BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA 


SAINT  PIERRE 


CHICAGO   AND   NEW   YORK 
THE  HENNEBERRY  COMPANY 


URL 


PREFACE. 


In  introducing  to  the  Public  the  present 
edition  of  this  well-known  and  affecting  Tale, 
— the  chef-d'oeuvre  of  its  gifted  author,  the 
publishers  take  occasion  to  say,  that  it  affords 
them  no  little  gratification  to  apprise  the  nu- 
merous admirers  of  "Paul  and  Virginia,"  that 
the  entire  work  of  St.  Pierre  is  now  presented 
to  them.  All  the  previous  editions  have  been 
disfigured  by  interpolations,  and  mutilated  by 
numerous  omissions  and  alterations,  which 
have  had  the  effect  of  reducing  it  from  the 
rank  of  a  Philosophical  Tale  to  the  level  of  a 
mere  story  for  children. 

Of  the  merits  of  "Paul  and  Virginia,"  it  is 
hardly  necessary  to  utter  a  word ;  it  tells  its 
own  story  eloquently  and  impressively,  and  in 
a  language  simple,  natural  and  true,  it  touches 
the  common  heart  of  the  world.  There  are 
but  few  works  that  have  obtained  a  greater 
degree  of  popularity,  none  are  more  deserv- 
ing it;  and  the  publishers  cannot,  therefore, 
refrain  from  expressing  a  hope  that  their 
3 


4  PREFACE. 

efforts  in  thus  giving  a  faithful  transcript  of 
the  work, — an  acknowledged  classic  by  the 
European  world, — may  be,  in  some  degree, 
instrumental  in  awakening  here,  at  home,  a 
taste  for  those  higher  works  of  Fancy,  which, 
while  they  seek  to  elevate  and  strengthen  the 
understanding,  instruct  and  purify  the  heart 
It  is  in  this  character  that  the  Tale  of  "Paul 
and  Virginia"  ranks  pre-eminent 


MEMOIR 

OP 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE. 


Love  of  Nature,  that  strong  feeling  of 
enthusiasm  which  leads  to  profound  admira- 
tion of  the  whole  works  of  creation,  belongs,  it 
may  be  presumed,  to  a  certain  peculiarity  of 
organization,  and  has,  no  doubt,  existed  in 
different  individuals  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world.  The  old  poets  and  philosophers, 
romance  writers  and  troubadours  had  all  looked 
upon  Nature  with  observing  and  admiring  eyes. 
They  have  most  of  them  given  incidentally 
charming  pictures  of  spring,  of  the  setting  sun, 
of  particular  spots,  and  of  favorite  flowers. 

There  are  few  writers  of  note,  of  any  country 
or  of  any  age,  from  whom  quotations  might  not 
be  made  in  proof  of  the  love  with  which  they 
regarded  Nature.  And  this  remark  applies  as 
much  to  religious  and  philosophic  writers  as 
to  poets, — equally  to  Plato,  St.  Francois  de 
5 


6  MEMOIR  OF 

Sales,  Bacon  and  Fenelon,  as  to  Shakespeare, 
Racine,  Calderon,  or  Burns;  for  from  no 
really  philosophic  or  religious  doctrine  can  the 
love  of  the  works  of  Nature  be  excluded. 

But  before  the  days  of  Jean  Jacques  Rous- 
seau, Buffon,  and  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre,  this 
love  of  Nature  had  not  been  expressed  in  all 
its  intensity.  Until  their  day,  it  had  not  been 
written  on  exclusively.  The  lovers  of  Nature 
were  not,  till  then,  as  they  may  perhaps  since 
be  considered,  a  sect  apart.  Though  perfectly 
sincere  in  all  the  adoration  they  offered,  they 
were  less  entirely,  and  certainly  less  diligently 
and  constantly,  her  adorers. 

It  is  the  great  praise  of  Bernardin  de  St. 
Pierre,  that  coming  immediately  after  Rous- 
seau and  Buffon  and  being  one  of  the  most 
proficient  writers  of  the  same  school,  he  was  in 
no  degree  their  imitator,  but  perfectly  original 
and  new.  He  intuitively  perceived  the 
immensity  of  the  subject  he  intended  to 
explore,  and  has  told  us  that  no  day  of  his  life 
passed  without  his  collecting  some  valuable 
materials  for  his  writings.  In  the  divine  works 
of  Nature,  he  diligently  sought  to  discover  her 
laws.  It  was  his  early  intention  not  to  begin 
to  write  until  he  had  ceased  to  observe ;  but  he 
found  observation  endless,  and  that  he  was 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  7 

"like  a  child,  who  with  a  shell  digs  a  hole  in 
the  sand  to  receive  the  waters  of  the  ocean. ' ' 
He  elsewhere  humbly  says,  that  not  only  the 
general  history  of  Nature,  but  even  that  of  the 
smallest  plant,  was  far  beyond  his  ability. 
Before,  however,  speaking  further  of  him  as 
an  author,  it  will  be  necessary  to  recapitulate 
the  chief  events  of  his  life. 

Henri-Jacques  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre  was 
born  at  Havre  in  1737.  He  always  considered 
himself  descended  from  Eustache  de  St.  Pierre, 
who  is  said  by  Froissart  (and  I  believe  by 
Froissart  only)  to  have  so  generously  offered 
himself  as  a  victim  to  appease  the  wrath  of 
Edward  the  Third  against  Calais.  He,  with 
his  companions  in  virtue,  it  is  also  said,  was 
saved  by  the  intercession  of  Queen  Philippa. 
In  one  of  his  smaller  works,  Bernardin  asserts 
this  descent,  and  it  was  certainly  one  of  which 
he  might  be  proud.  Many  anecdotes  are 
related  of  his  childhood,  indicative  of  the  youth- 
ful author, — of  his  strong  love  of  Nature,  and 
his  humanity  to  animals. 

That  "the  child  is  father  of  the  man,"  has 
been  seldom  more  strongly  illustrated.  There 
is  a  story  of  a  cat,  which,  when  related  by  him 
many  years  afterward  to  Rousseau,  caused  that 
philosopher  to  shed  tears.  At  eight  years  of 


8  MEMOIR  OF 

age,  he  took  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the  reg- 
ular culture  of  his  garden ;  and  possibly  then 
stored  up  some  of  the  ideas  which  afterward 
appeared  in  the ' '  Fraisier. ' '  His  sympathy  with 
all  living  things  was  extreme. 

In  "Paul  and  Virginia,"  he  praises,  with 
evident  satisfaction,  their  meal  of  milk  and 
eggs,  which  had  not  cost  any  animal  its  life. 
It  has  been  remarked,  and  possibly  with  truth, 
that  every  tenderly  disposed  heart,  deeply 
imbued  with  a  love  of  Nature,  is  at  times  some- 
what Braminical.  St.  Pierre's  certainly  was. 

When  quite  young,  he  advanced  with  a 
clenched  fist  toward  a  carter  who  was  ill-treat- 
ing a  horse.  And  when  taken  for  the  first 
time,  by  his  father,  to  Rouen,  having  the 
towers  of  the  cathedral  pointed  out  to  him,  he 
exclaimed,  "My  God!  how  high  they  fly." 
Every  one  present  naturally  laughed.  Ber- 
nardin  had  only  noticed  the  flight  of  some 
swallows  who  had  built  their  nests  there.  He 
thus  early  revealed  those  instincts  which  after- 
ward became  the  guidance  of  his  life:  the 
strength  of  which  possibly  occasioned  his  too 
great  indifference  to  all  monuments  of  art. 
The  love  of  study  and  of  solitude  were  also 
characteristics  of  his  childhood.  His  temper 
is  said  to  have  been  moody,  impetuous,  and 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  9 

intractable.  Whether  this  faulty  temper  may 
not  have  been  produced  or  rendered  worse  by 
mismanagement,  cannot  now  be  ascertained. 
It  undoubtedly  became  afterward,  to  St. 
Pierre,  a  fruitful  source  of  misfortune  and  of 
woe. 

The  reading  of  voyages  was  with  him,  even 
in  childhood,  almost  a  passion.  At  twelve 
years  of  age,  his  whole  soul  was  occupied  by 
Robinson  Crusoe  and  his  island.  His  romantic 
love  of  adventure  seeming  to  his  parents  to 
announce  a  predilection  in  favor  of  the  sea,  he 
was  sent  by  them  with  one  of  his  uncles  to 
Martinique.  But  St.  Pierre  had  not  sufficiently 
practiced  the  virtue  of  obedience  to  submit,  as 
was  necessary  to  the  discipline  of  a  ship.  He 
was  afterward  placed  with  the  Jesuits  at  Caen, 
with  whom  he  made  immense  progress  in  his 
studies.  But,  it  is  to  be  feared,  he  did  not 
conform  too  well  to  the  regulations  of  the  col- 
lege, for  he  conceived,  from  that  time,  the 
greatest  detestation  for  places  of  public  educa- 
tion. And  this  aversion  he  has  frequently 
testified  in  his  writings.  While  devoted  to  his 
books  of  travels,  he  in  turn  anticipated  being  a 
Jesuit,  a  missionary  or  a  martyr ;  but  his  family 
at  length  succeeded  in  establishing  him  at 
Rouen,  where  he  completed  his  studies  with 


10  MEMOIR  OF 

brilliant  success,  in  1757.  He  soon  after 
obtained  a  commission  as  an  engineer,  with  a 
salary  of  one  hundred  louis.  In  this  capacity 
he  was  sent  (1760)  to  Dusseldorf,  under  the 
command  of  Count  St.  Germain.  This  was  a 
career  in  which  he  might  have  acquired  both 
honor  and  fortune ;  but,  most  unhappily  for  St. 
Pierre,  he  looked  upon  the  useful  and  neces- 
sary etiquettes  of  life  of  as  many  unworthy 
prejudices.  Instead  of  conforming  to  them, 
he  sought  to  trample  on  them.  In  addition, 
he  evinced  some  disposition  to  rebel  against 
his  commander,  and  was  unsocial  with  his 
equals.  It  is  not,  therefore,  to  be  wondered 
at,  that  at  this  unfortunate  period  of  his  exist- 
ence, he  made  himself  enemies ;  or  that,  not- 
withstanding his  great  talents,  or  the  coolness 
he  had  exhibited  in  moments  of  danger,  he 
should  have  been  sent  back  to  France.  Unwel- 
come, under  these  circumstances,  to  his  fam- 
ily, he  was  ill  received  by  all. 

It  is  a  lesson  yet  to  be  learned,  that  genius 
gives  no  charter  for  the  indulgence  of  error, 
— a  truth  yet  to  be  remembered,  that  only  a 
small  portion  of  the  world  will  look  with  len- 
iency on  the  failings  of  the  highly  gifted ;  and, 
that  from  themselves,  the  consequences  of  their 
own  actions  can  never  be  averted.  It  is  yet, 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  11 

alas !  to  be  added  to  the  convictions  of  the  ar- 
dent in  mind,  that  no.  degree  of  excellence  in 
science  or  literature,  not  even  the  immortality 
of  a  name,  can  exempt  its  possessor  from  obe- 
dience to  moral  discipline ;  or  give  him  happi- 
ness, unless  "temper's  image"  be  stamped  on 
his  daily  words  and  actions.  St.  Pierre's  life 
was  sadly  embittered  by  his  own  conduct. 
The  adventurous  life  he  led  after  his  return 
from  Dusseldorf,  some  of  the  circumstances  of 
which  exhibited  him  in  an  unfavorable  light 
to  others,  tended,  perhaps,  to  tinge  his  imag- 
ination with  that  wild  and  tender  melancholy 
so  prevalent  in  his  writings.  A  prize  in  the 
lottery  had  just  doubled  his  very  slender  means 
of  existence,  when  he  obtained  the  appoint- 
ment of  geographical  engineer,  and  was  sent 
to  Malta.  The  Knights  of  the  Order  were  at 
this  time  expecting  to  be  attacked  by  the 
Turks.  Having  already  been  in  the  service,  it 
was  singular  that  St.  Pierre  should  have  had 
the  imprudence  to  sail  without  his  commis- 
sion. He  thus  subjected  himself  to  a  thousand 
disagreeables,  for  the  officers  would  not  recog- 
nize him  as  one  of  themselves.  The  effects  of 
their  neglect  on  his  mind  were  tremendous; 
his  reason  for  a  time  seemed  almost  disturbed 
by  the  mortifications  he  suffered.  After  receiv- 


12  MEMOIR  OF 

ing  an  insufficient  indemnity  for  the  expenses 
of  his  voyage,  St.  Pierre  returned  to  France, 
there  to  endure  fresh  misfortunes. 

Not  being  able  to  obtain  any  assistance  from 
the  ministry  or  his  family,  he  resolved  on  giv- 
ing lessons  in  the  mathematics.  But  St.  Pierre 
was  less  adapted  than  most  others  for  succeed- 
ing in  the  apparently  easy,  but  really  ingeni- 
ous and  difficult,  art  of  teaching.  When  edu- 
cation is  better  understood,  it  will  be  more  gen- 
erally acknowledged,  that,  to  impart  instruction 
with  success,  a  teacher  must  possess  deeper  in- 
telligence than  is  implied  by  the  profoundest 
skill  in  any  one  branch  of  science  or  of  art. 
All  minds,  even  to  the  youngest,  require,  while 
being  taught,  the  utmost  compliance  and  con- 
sideration ;  and  these  qualities  can  scarcely  be 
properly  exercised  without  a  true  knowledge 
of  the  human  heart,  united  to  much  practical 
patience.  St.  Pierre,  at  this  period  of  his  life, 
certainly  did  not  possess  them.  It  is  probable 
that  Rousseau,  when  he  attempted  in  his  youth 
to  give  lessons  in  music,  not  knowing  anything 
whatever  of  music,  was  scarcely  less  fitted  for 
the  task  of  instruction  than  St.  Pierre  with  all 
his  mathematical  knowledge.  The  pressure  of 
poverty  drove  him  to  Holland.  He  was  well 
received  at  Amsterdam,  by  a  French  refugee 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  13 

named  Mustel,  who  edited  a  popular  journal 
there,  and  who  procured  him  employment,  with 
handsome  remuneration.  St.  Pierre  did  not, 
however,  remain  long  satisfied  with  this  quiet 
mode  of  existence.  Allured  by  the  encourag- 
ing reception  given  by  Catherine  II.  to  foreign- 
ers, he  set  out  for  St.  Petersburg.  Here,  until 
he  obtained  the  protection  of  the  Marechai  de 
Munich,  and  the  friendship  of  Duval,  he  had 
again  to  contend  with  poverty.  The  latter 
generously  opened  to  him  his  purse,  and  by  the 
Marechai  he  was  introduced  to  Villebois  the 
Grand  Master  of  Artillery,  and  by  him  pre- 
sented to  the  Empress.  St.  Pierre  was  so 
handsome,  that  by  some  of  his  friends  it  was 
supposed,  perhaps,  too,  hoped,  that  he  would 
supersede  Orloff  in  the  favor  of  Catherine.  But 
more  honorable  illusions,  though  they  were 
but  illusions,  occupied  his  own  mind.  He  nei- 
ther sought  nor  wished  to  captivate  the  Em- 
press. His  ambition  was  to  establish  a  repub- 
lic on  the  shores  of  the  lake  Aral,  of  which,  in 
imitation  of  Plato  or  Rousseau,  he  was  to  be 
the  legislator.  Preoccupied  with  the  reforma- 
tion of  despotism,  he  did  not  sufficiently  look 
into  his  own  heart,  or  seek  to  avoid  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  same  errors  that  had  already 
changed  friends  into  enemies,  and  been  such  a 


14  MEMOIR  OF 

terrible  barrier  to  his  success  in  life.  His  mind 
was  already  morbid,  and  in  fancying  that 
others  did  not  understand  him,  he  forgot  that 
he  did  not  understand  others.  The  Empress, 
with  the  rank  of  captain,  bestowed  on  him  a 
grant  of  fifteen  hundred  francs  \  but  when 
General  Dubosquet  proposed  to  take  him  with 
him  to  examine  the  military  position  of 
Finland,  his  only  anxiety  seemed  to  be  to 
return  to  France;  still  he  went  to  Finland; 
and  his  own  notes  of  his  occupations  and 
experiments  on  that  expedition  prove,  that  he 
gave  himself  up  in  all  diligence  to  considera- 
tions of  attack  and  defense.  He,  who  loved 
Nature  so  intently,  seems  only  to  have  seen  in 
the  extensive  and  majestic  forests  of  the  north, 
a  theater  of  war.  In  this  instance,  he  appears 
to  have  stifled  every  emotion  of  admiration, 
and  to.  have  beheld,  alike,  cities  and  countries 
in  his  character  of  military  surveyor. 

On  his  return  to  St.  Petersburg,  he  found 
his  protector,  Villebois,  disgraced.  St.  Pierre 
then  resolved  on  espousing  the  cause  of  the 
Poles.  He  went  into  Poland  with  a  high  repu- 
tation,— that  of  having  refused  the  favors  of 
despotism,  to  aid  the  cause  of  liberty.  But  it 
was  his  private  life,  rather  than  his  public  ca- 
reer, that  was  affected  by  his  residence  in  Po- 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  15 

land.  The  Princess  Mary  fell  in  love  with  him, 
and,  forgetful  of  all  considerations,  quitted  her 
family  to  reside  with  him.  Yielding,  however, 
at  length,  to  the  entreaties  of  her  mother,  she 
returned  to  her  home.  St.  Pierre,  filled  with 
regret,  resorted  to  Vienna ;  but,  unable  to  sup- 
port the  sadness  which  oppressed  him,  and  im- 
agining that  sadness  to  be  shared  by  the  Prin- 
cess, he  soon  went  back  to  Poland.  His  return 
was  still  more  sad  than  his  departure ;  for  he 
found  himself  regarded  by  her  who  had  once 
loved  him,  as  an  intruder.  It  is  to  this  attach- 
ment he  alludes  so  touchingly  in  one  of  his  let- 
ters. "Adieu!  friends  dearer  than  the  treas- 
ures of  India !  Adieu !  forests  of  the  North, 
that  I  shall  never  see  again ! — tender  friend- 
ship, and  the  still  dearer  sentiments  which 
surpassed  it ! — days  of  intoxication  and  of  hap- 
piness! adieu!  adieu!  We  live  but  for  a  day, 
to  die  during  a  whole  life!" 

This  letter  appears  to  one  of  St.  Pierre's 
most  partial  biographers,  as  if  steeped  in  tears ; 
and  he  speaks  of  his  romantic  and  unfortunate 
adventure  in  Poland,  as  the  ideal  of  a  poet's 
love. 

/'To  be,"  says  M.  Sainte-Beuve,  "a  great 
poet,  and  loved  before  he  had  thought  of  glory ! 
To  exhale  the  first  perfume  of  a  soul  of  genius, 


16  MEMOIR  OF 

believing  himself  only  a  lover !  To  reveal  him- 
self, for  the  first  time,  entirely,  but  in  mys- 
tery!" 

In  his  enthusiasm,  M.  Sainte-Beuve  loses 
sight  of  the  melancholy  sequel,  which  must 
have  left  so  sad  a  remembrance  in  St.  Pierre's 
own  mind.  His  suffering,  from  this  circum- 
stance may  perhaps  have  conduced  to  his  mak- 
ing Virginia  so  good  and  true,  and  so  incapable 
of  giving  pain. 

In  1766,  he  returned  to  Havre;  but  his  rela- 
tion, were  by  this  time  dead  or  dispersed,  and 
after  six  years  of  exile,  he  found  himself  once 
more  in  his  own  country,  without  employment 
and  destitute  of  pecuniary  resources. 

The  Baron  de  Breteuil  at  length  obtained  for 
him  a  commission  as  Engineer  to  the  Isle  of 
France,  whence  he  returned  in  1771.  In  this 
interval,  his  heart  and  imagination  doubtless 
received  the  germs  of  his  immortal  works. 
Many  of  the  events,  indeed,  of  the  "Voyage  a 
1'Ile  de  France,"  are  to  be  found  modified  by 
imagined  circumstances  in  "Paul  and  Vir- 
ginia. ' '  He  returned  to  Paris  poor  in  purse, 
but  rich  in  observation  and  mental  resources, 
and  resolved  to  devote  himself  to  literature.  By 
the  Baron  de  Breteuil  he  was  recommended  to 
D'Alembert,  who  procured  a  publisher  for  his 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  17 

"Voyage,"  and  also  introduced  him  to  Mile, 
de  1'Espinasse. 

But  no  one,  in  spite  of  his  great  beauty,  was 
so  ill  calculated  to  shine  or  please  in  society 
as  St.  Pierre.  His  manners  were  timid  and 
embarrassed,  and,  unless  to  those  with  whom 
he  was  very  intimate,  he  scarcely  appeared 
intelligent. 

It  is  sad  to  think,  that  misunderstanding 
should  prevail  to  such  an  extent,  and  heart  so 
seldom  really  speak  to  heart,  in  the  intercourse 
of  the  world,  that  the  most  humane  may  appear 
cruel,  and  the  sympathizing  indifferent.  Judg- 
ing of  Mile,  de  1'Espinasse  from  her  letters, 
and  the  testimony  of  her  contemporaries,  it 
seems  quite  impossible  that  she  could  have 
given  pain  to  any  one,  more  particularly  to  a 
man  possessing  St.  Pierre's  extraordinary  and 
profound  sensibility.  Both  she  and  D'Alem- 
bert  were  capable  of  appreciating  him ;  but  the 
society  in  which  they  moved  laughed  at  his 
timidity,  and  the  tone  of  raillery  in  which  they 
often  indulged  was  not  understood  by  him.  It 
is  certain  that  he  withdrew  from  their  circle 
with  wounded  and  mortified  feelings,  and,  in 
spite  of  an  explanatory  letter  from  D'Alem- 
bfert,  did  not  return  to  it.  The  inflictors  of  all 
this  pain,  in  the  meantime,  were  possibly  as 

a  Paul  and  Virginia 


18  MEMOIR  OF 

unconscious  of  the  meaning  attached  to  their 
words,  as  were  the  birds  of  old  of  the  augury 
drawn  from  their  flight. 

St.  Pierre,  in  his  "  Preambule  de  1'Arcadie," 
has  pathetically  and  eloquently  described  the 
deplorable  state  of  his  health  and  feelings, 
after  frequent  humiliating  disputes  and  disap- 
pointments had  driven  him  from  society;  or, 
rather,  when,  like  Rousseau,  he  was  "self-ban- 
ished" from  it. 

"I  was  struck,"  he  says,  "with  an  extraordi- 
nary malady.  Streams  of  fire,  like  lightning, 
flashed  before  my  eyes;  every  object  appeared 
to  me  double,  or  in  motion;  like  CEdipus,  I 
saw  two  suns.  *  *  In  the  finest  day  of  summer, 
I  eould  not  cross  the  Seine  in  a  boat  without 
experiencing  intolerable  anxiety.  If,  in  a  pub- 
lic garden,  I  merely  passed  by  a  piece  of  water, 
I  suffered  from  spasms  and  a  feeling  of  horror. 
I  could  not  cross  a  garden  in  which  many  peo- 
ple were  collected :  if  they  looked  at  me,  I  im- 
mediately imagined  they  were  speaking  ill  of 
me."  It  was  during  this  state  of  suffering  that 
he  devoted  himself  with  ardor  to  collecting  and 
making  use  of  materials  for  that  work  which 
was  to  give  glory  to  his  name. 

It  was  only  by  perseverance,  and  disregard- 
ing many  rough  and  discouraging  receptions, 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  19 

that  he  succeeded  in  making  acquaintance  with 
Rousseau,  whom  he  so  much  resembled.  St. 
Pierre  devoted  himself  to  his  society  with  en- 
thusiasm, visiting  him  frequently  and  con- 
stantly, till  Rousseau  departed  for  Ermenon- 
ville.  It  is  not  unworthy  of  remark,  that  both 
these  men,  such  enthusiastic  admirers  of  Na- 
ture and  the  natural  in  all  things,  should  have 
possessed  factitious  rather  than  practical  vir- 
tue, and  a  wisdom  wholly  unfitted  for  the 
world.  St.  Pierre  aske<3  Rousseau,  in  one  of 
their  frequent  rambles,  if  in  delineating  St. 
Preux,  he  had  not  intended  to  represent  him- 
self. "No,"  replied  Rousseau,  "St.  Preux  is 
not  what  I  have  been,  but  what  I  wish  to  be. ' ' 
St.  Pierre  would  most  likely  have  given  the 
same  answer,  had  a  similar  question  been  put 
to  him  with  regard  to  the  Colonel  in  "Paul 
and  Virginia. ' '  This,  at  least,  appears  the  sort 
of  old  age  he  loved  to  contemplate,  and  wished 
to  realize. 

For  six  years,  he  worked  at  his  "  Etudes,  *• 
and  with  some  difficulty  found  a  publisher  for 
them.  M.  Didot,  a  celebrated  typographer, 
whose  daughter  St.  Pierre  afterwards  married, 
consented  to  print  a  manuscript  which  had  been 
declined  by  many  others.  He  was  well  re- 
warded for  the  undertaking.  The  success  of 


20  MEMOIR  OF 

the  "Etudes  de  la  Nature"  surpassed  the  most 
sanguine  expectation,  even  of  the  author. 
Four  years  after  its  publication,  St.  Pierre  gave 
to  the  world  "Paul  and  Virginia,"  which  had 
for  some  time  been  lying  in  his  portfolio.  He 
had  tried  its  effect,  in  manuscript,  on  persons 
of  different  characters  and  pursuits.  They 
had  given  it  no  applause,  but  all  had  shed 
tears  at  its  perusal ;  and  perhaps  few  works  of 
a  decidedly  romantic  character  have  ever  been 
so  generally  read,  or  so  much  approved. 
Among  the  great  names  whose  admiration  of 
it  is  on  record,  may  be  mentioned  Napoleon 
and  Humboldt. 

In  1789,  he  published  "Les  Vceux  d'un  Soli- 
taire," and  "La  Suite  des  Vceux."  By  the 
"Moniteur"  of  the  day,  these  works  were  com- 
pared to  the  celebrated  pamphlet  of  Sieyes, — 
"Qu'est-ce  que  le  tiers  etat?"  which  then  ab- 
sorbed all  the  public  favor.  In  1791,  "La 
Chaumiere  Indienne"  was  published;  and  in 
the  following  year,  about  thirteen  days  before 
the  celebrated  icth  of  August,  Louis  XVI. 
appointed  St.  Pierre  superintendent  of  the 
"Jardin  des  Plantes. "  Soon  afterwards,  the 
King,  on  seeing  him,  complimented  him  on 
his  writings,  and  told  him  he  was  happy  to 
have  found  a  worthy  successor  to  Buffon. 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  21 

Although  deficient  in  the  exact  knowledge  of 
the  sciences,  and  knowing  little  of  the  world, 
St.  Pierre  was,  by  his  simplicity,  and  the  re- 
tirement in  which  he  lived,  well  suited,  at  that 
epoch,  to  the  situation.  About  this  time,  and 
when  in  his  fifty-seventh  year,  he  married  Mile. 
Didot. 

In  1795,  ne  became  a  member  of  the  French 
Assembly,  and,  as  was  just>  after  his  accept- 
ance of  this  honor,  he  wrote  no  more  against 
literary  societies.  On  the  suppression  of  this 
place,  he  retired  to  Essome  It  is  delightful 
to  follow  him  there,  and  to  contemplate  his 
quiet  existence.  His  days  flowed  on  peace- 
ably, occupied  in  the  publication  of  "Les  Har- 
monies de  la  Nature,"  the  republication  of  his 
earlier  works,  and  the  composition  of  some 
lesser  pieces.  He  himself  affectingly  regrets 
an  interruption  to  these  occupations.  On  be- 
ing appointed  Instructor  to  the  Normal  School, 
he  says,  "I  am  obliged  to  hang  my  harp  on 
the  willows  of  my  river,  and  to  accept  an  em- 
ployment useful  to  my  family  and  my  country. 
I  am  afflicted  at  having  to  suspend  an  occupa- 
tion which  has  given  me  so  much  happiness." 
.,  He  enjoyed  in  his  old  age  a  degree  of  opu- 
lence which,  as  much  as  glory,  had  perhaps 
been  the  object  of  his  ambition.  In  any  case, 


22  MEMOIR  OF 

it  is  gratifying  to  reflect,  that  after  a  life  so  full 
of  chance  and  change,  he  was,  in  his  latter 
years,  surrounded  by  much  that  should  accom- 
pany old  age.  His  day  of  storms  and  tempests 
was  closed  by  an  evening  of  repose  and  beauty. 

Amid  many  other  blessings,  the  elasticity  of 
his  mind  was  preserved  to  the  last.  He  died 
at  Eragny  sur  1'Oise,  on  the  2ist  of  January, 
1814.  The  stirring  events  which  then  occu- 
pied France,  or  rather  the  whole  world,  caused 
his  death  to  be  little  noticed  at  the  time.  The 
Academy  did  not,  however,  neglect  to  give  him 
the  honor  due  to  its  members.  Mons.  Parseval 
Grand  Maison  pronounced  a  deserved  eulogium 
on  his  talents,  and  Mons.  Aignan,  also,  the 
customary  tribute,  taking  his  seat  as  his  suc- 
cessor. 

Having  himself  contracted  the  habit  of  con- 
fiding his  griefs  and  sorrows  to  the  public,  the 
sanctuary  of  his  private  life  was  open  alike  to 
the  discussion  of  friends  and  enemies.  The 
biographer,  who  wishes  to  be  exact,  and  yet 
set  down  naught  in  malice,  is  forced  to  the  con- 
templation of  his  errors.  The  secret  of  many 
of  these,  as  well  as  of  his  miseries,  seems  re- 
vealed by  himself  in  this  sentence:  "I  experi- 
ence more  pain  from  a  single  thorn,  than  pleas- 
ure from  a  thousand  roses."  And  elsewhere, 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  23 

"The  best  society  seems  to  me  bad,  if  I  find  in 
it  one  troublesome,  wicked,  slanderous,  envi- 
ous, or  perfidious  person."  Now,  taking  into 
consideration  that  St.  Pierre  sometimes  imag- 
ined persons  who  were  really  good,  to  be  de- 
serving of  these  strong  and  very  contumacious 
epithets,  it  would  have  been  diffcult  indeed  to 
find  a  society  in  which  he  could  have  been 
happy.  He  was  therefoere  wise  in  seeking  re- 
tiremnent,  and  indulging  in  solitude.  His  mis- 
takes,— for  they  were  mistakes, — arose  from  a 
too  quick  perception  of  evil,  united  to  an  ex- 
quisite and  diffuse  sensibility.  When  he  felt 
wounded  by  a  thorn,  he  forgot  the  beauty  and 
perfume  of  the  rose  to  which  it  belonged,  and 
from  which  perhaps  it  could  not  be  separated, 
And  he  was  exposed  (as  often  happens)  to  the 
very  description  of  trials  that  were  least  in  har- 
mony with  his  defects.  Few  dispositions  could 
have  run  a  career  like  his,  and  have  remained 
unscathed.  But  one  less  tender  than  his  own 
would  have  been  less  soured  by  it.  For  many 
years,  he  bore  about  with  him  the  conscious- 
ness of  unacknowledged  talent.  The  world 
cannot  be  blamed  for  not  appreciating  that 
which  had  never  been  revealed.  But  we  know 
not  what  the  jostling  and  elbowing  of  that 
world,  in  the  meantime,  may  have  been  to  him 


24  MEMOIR  OF 

• — how  often  he  may  have  felt  himself  unwor- 
thily treated — or  how  far  that  treatment  may 
have  preyed  upon  and  corroded  his  heart.  Who 
shall  say  that  with  this  consciousness  there  did 
not  mingle  a  quick  and  instinctive  perception 
of  the  hidden  motives  of  action, — that  he  did 
not  sometimes  detect,  where  others  might  have 
been  blind,  the  under-shuffling  of  the  hands,  in 
the  by-play  of  the  world? 

Through  all  his  writings,  and  throughout  his 
correspondence,  there  are  beautiful  proofs  of 
the  tenderness  of  his  feelings,  — the  most  essen- 
tial quality,  perhaps,  in  any  writer.  It  is  at 
least  one  that  if  not  possessed,  can  never  be 
attained.  The  familiarity  of  his  imagination 
with  natural  objects,  when  he  was  living  far 
removed  from  them,  is  remarkable,  and  often 
affecting. 

"I  have  arranged,"  he  says  to  Mr.  Henin, 
his  friend  and  patron,  "very  interesting  mate- 
rials, but  it  is  only  with  the  light  of  Heaven 
over  me  that  I  can  recover  my  strength.  Ob- 
tain for  me  a  rabbit's  hole,  in  which  I  may  pass 
the  summer  in  the  country."  And  again, 
"With  the  first  violet,  I  shall  come  to  see  you." 
It  is  soothing  to  find,  in  passages  like  these, 
such  pleasing  and  convincing  evidence  that 

"Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her." 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  25 

In  the  noise  of  a  great  city,  in  the  midst  of 
annoyances  of  many  kinds,  these  images, 
impressed  with  quietness  and  beauty,  came 
back  to  the  mind  of  St.  Pierre,  to  cheer  and 
animate  him. 

In  alluding  to  his  miseries,  it  is  but  fair  to 
quote  a  passage  from  his  "Voyage,"  which 
reveals  his  fond  remembrance  of  his  native 
land.  "I  should  ever  prefer  my  own  country 
to  every  other,"  he  says,  "not  because  it  was 
more  beautiful,  but  because  I  was  brought  up 
in  it.  Happy  he,  who  sees  again  the  places 
where  all  was  loved,  and  all  was  lovely ! — the 
meadows  in  which  he  played,  and  the  orchard 
that  he  robbed!" 

He  returned  to  this  country,  so  fondly  loved 
and  deeply  cherished  in  absence,  to  experience 
only  trouble  and  difficulty.  Away  from  it,  he 
had  yearned  to  behold  it, — to  fold  it,  as  it  were, 
once  more  to  his  bosom.  He  returned  to  feel 
as  if  neglected  by  It,  and  all  his  rapturous  emo- 
tions were  changed  to  bitterness  and  gall.  His 
hopes  had  proved  delusions — his  expectations, 
mockeries.  Oh!  who  but  must  look  with 
charity  and  mercy  on  all  discontent  and  irrita- 
tion consequent  on  such  a  depth  of  disappoint- 
ment: on  what  must  have  then  appeared  to  him 
such  unmitigable  woe.  Under  the  influence  of 


26  MEMOIR   OF 

these  saddened  feelings,  his  thoughts  flew  back 
to  the  island  he  had  left,  to  place  all  beauty, 
as  well  as  all  happiness  there ! 

One  great  proof  that  he  did  beautify  the  dis- 
tant, may  be  found  in  the  contrast  of  some  of 
the  descriptions  in  the  "Voyage  a  1'Ile  de 
France,"  and  those  in  "Paul  and  Virginia." 
That  spot,  which,  when  peopled  by  the  cher- 
ished creatures  of  his  imagination,  he  described 
as  an  enchanting  and  delightful  Eden,  he  had 
previously  spoken  of  as  a  "rugged  country 
covered  with  rocks," — "aland  of  Cyclops  black- 
ened by  fire."  Truth,  probably,  lies  between 
the  two  representations;  the  sadness  of  exile 
having  darkened  the  one,  and  the  exhubeiance 
of  his  imagination  embellished  the  other. 

St.  Pierre's  merit  as  an  author  has  been  too 
long  and  too  universally  acknowledged,  to  make 
it  needful  that  it  should  be  dwelt  on  here.  A 
careful  review  of  the  circumstances  of  his  life 
induces  the  belief,  that  his  writings  grew  (if  it 
may  be  permitted  so  to  speak)  out  of  his  life. 
In  the  most  imaginative  passages,  to  whatever1 
height  his  fancy  soared,  the  starting  point  seems 
ever  from  a  fact.  The  past  appears  to  have 
been  always  spread  out  before  him  when  he 
wrote,  like  a  beautiful  landscape,  on  which  his 
eye  rested  with  complacency,  and  from  which 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  27 

his  mind  transferred  and  idealized  some  objects, 
without  a  servile  imitation  of  any.  When  at 
Berlin,  he  had  had  it  in  his  power  to  marry 
Virginia  Tabenheim ;  and  in  Russia,  Mile,  de  la 
Tour,  the  niece  of  General  Dubosquet,  would 
have  accepted  his  hand.  He  was  too  poor  to 
marry  either.  A  grateful  recollection  caused 
him  to  bestow  the  names  of  the  two  on  his  most 
beloved  creation.  Paul  was  the  name  of  a 
friar,  with  whom  he  had  associated  in  his  child- 
hood, and  whose  life  he  wished  to  imitate. 
How  little  had  the  owners  of  these  names 
anticipated  that  they  were  to  become  the  bap- 
tismal appellations  of  half  a  generation  in 
France,  and  to  be  re-echoed  through  the  world 
to  the  end  of  time ! 

It  was  St.  Pierre  who  first  discovered  the 
poverty  of  language  with  regard  to  picturesque 
descriptions.  In  his  earliest  work,  the  often- 
quoted  "Voyage,"  he  complains  that  the  terms 
for  describing  nature  are  not  yet  invented. 
"Endeavor,"  he  says,  "to  describe  a  mountain 
in  such  a  manner  that  it  may  be  recognized. 
When  you  have  spoken  of  its  base,  its  sides,  its 
summits,  you  will  have  said  all  !  But  what 
.,  variety  there  is  to  be  found  in  those  swelling, 
lengthened,  flattened,  or  cavernous  forms!  It 
is  only  by  periphrasis  that  all  this  can  be 


28  MEMOIR  OF 

expressed.  The  same  difficulty  exists  for 
plains  and  valleys.  But  if  you  have  a  palace  to 
describe,  there  is  no  longer  any  difficulty. 
Every  molding  has  its  appropriate  name. 

It  was  St.  Pierre's  glory,  in  some  degree,  to 
triumph  over  this  dearth  of  expression.  Few 
authors  ever  introduced  more  new  terms  into 
descriptive  writing:  yet  are  his  innovations 
ever  chastened,  and  in  good  taste.  His  style, 
in  its  elegant  simplicity,  is,  indeed,  perfection. 
It  is  at  once  sonorous  and  sweet,  and  always 
in  harmony  with  the  sentiment  he  would 
express,  or  the  subject  he  would  discuss. 
Chenier  might  well  arm  himself  with  I4  Paul 
and  Virginia, "  and  the  "Chaumiere  Indienne," 
in  opposition  to  those  writers,  who,  as  he  said, 
made  prose  unnatural,  by  seeking  to  elevate  it 
into  verse. 

The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature'  embraced  a 
thousand  different  subjects,  and  contained 
some  new  ideas  on  all.  It  is  to  the  honor  of 
human  nature,  that  after  the  uptearing  of  so 
many  sacred  opinions,  a  production  like  this 
revealing  the  chain  of  connection  through  the 
works  of  Creation,  and  the  Creator  in  his 
works,  should  have  been  hailed,  as  it  was,  with 
enthusiasm. 

His  motto,  from  his  favorite  poet  Virgil, 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  29 

"Taught  by  calamity,  I  pity  the  unhappy," 
won  for  him,  perhaps,  many  readers.  And  in 
its  touching  illusions,  the  unhappy  may  have 
found  suspension  from  the  realities  of  life,  as 
well  as  encouragement  to  support  its  trials. 
For,  throughout,  it  infuses  admiration  of  the 
arrangements  of  Providence,  and  a  desire  for 
virtue.  More  than  one  modern  poet  may  be 
supposed  to  have  drawn  a  portion  of  his  inspi- 
ration, from  the  "Etudes."  As  a  work  of 
science  it  contains  many  errors.  These,  par- 
ticularly his  theory  of  the  tides,*  St.  Pierre 
maintained  to  the  last,  and  so  eloquently,  that 
it  w?.s  said  at  the  time,  to  be  impossible  to  unite 
less  reason  with  more  logic. 

In  "Paul  and  Virginia,"  he  was  supremely 
fortunate  in  his  subject.  It  was  an  entirely 
new  creation,  uninspired  by  any  previous  work ; 
but  which  gave  birth  to  many  others,  having 
furnished  the  plot  to  six  theatrical  pieces.  It 
was  a  subject  to  which  the  author  could  bring 
all  his  excellences  as  a  writer  and  man,  while 
his  deficiencies  and  defects  were  necessarily 
excluded.  In  no  manner  could  he  incorporate 
politics,  science,  or  misapprehension  of  persons, 
while  his  sensibility,  morals,  and  wonderful 

•Occasioned,  according  to  St.  Pierre,  by  the  melting 
of  the  ice  at  the  Poles. 


30  MEMOIR  OF 

talent  for  description,  were  in  perfect  accord- 
ance with,  and  ornaments  to  it.  Lemontey  and 
Sainte-Beuve  both  consider  success  to  be  insep- 
arable from  the  happy  selection  of  a  story  so 
entirely  in  harmony  with  the  character  of  the 
author;  and  that  the  most  successful  writers 
might  envy  him  so  fortunate  a  choice.  Bona- 
parte was  in  the  habit  of  saying,  whenever  he 
saw  St.  Pierre,  "M.  Bernardin,  when  do  you 
mean  to  give  us  more  Pauls  and  Virginias,  and 
Indian  Cottages?  You  ought  to  give  us  some 
every  six  months. " 

The  "Indian  Cottage,"  if  not  quite  equal  in 
interest  to  "Paul  and  Virginia,"  is  still  a 
charming  production,  and  does  great  honor 
to  the  genius  of  its  author.  It  abounds  in 
antique  and  Eastern  gems  of  thought.  Strik- 
ing and  excellent  comparisons  are  scattered 
through  its  pages;  and  it  is  delightful  to 
reflect,  that  the  following  beautiful  and  solemn 
answer  of  the  Paria  was,  with  St.  Pierre,  the 
result  of  his  own  experience: — "Misfortune 
resembles  the  Black  Mountain  of  Bember, 
situated  at  the  extremity  of  the  burning  king- 
dom of  Lahore ;  while  you  are  climbing  it,  you 
.only  see  before  you  barren  rocks;  but  when 
you  have  reached  its  summit,  you  see  heaven 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE.  31 

above  your  head,  and  at  your  feet  the  kingdom 
of  Cachemere." 

When  this  passage  was  written,  the  rugged 
and  sterile  rock  had  been  climbed  by  its  gifted 
author.  He  had  reached  the  summit, — his 
genius  had  been  rewarded,  and  he  himself 
saw  the  heaven  he  wished  to  point  out  to  others. 

SARAH  JONES. 

%*  For  the  facts  contained  in  this  brief  Memoir,  I  am 
indeted  to  St  Pierre's  own  works,  to  the  "Biographic 
Universelle,"  to  the  "Essai  sur  la  Vie  et  les  Ouvrages 
de  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre,"  by  M.  Aime  Martin,  and  to 
the  very  excellent  and  interesting  "Notice  Historique 
et  Litteraire,"  of  M.  Sainte  Beuve. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 


Situate  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  mountain 
which  rises  above  Port  Louis,  in  the  Mauritius, 
upon  a  Apiece  of  land  bearing  the  marks  of 
former  cultivation,  are_seen~thg^ruingjofjbwo 
slnall  cottages.  These  ruins  are  not  far  from 
the  center  of  a  valley,  formed  by  immense 
rocks,  and  which  opens  only  towards  the 
north.  On  the  left  rises  the  mountain  called 
the  Height  of  Discovery,  whence  the  eye 
marks  the  distant  sail  when  it  first  touches  the 
verge  of  the  horizon,  and  whence  the  signal  is 
given  when  a  vessel  approaches  the  island. 
At  the  foot  of  this  mountain  stands  the  town  of 
Port  Louis.  On  the  right  is  formed  the  road 
which  stretches  from  Port  Louis  to  the  Shad- 
dock Grove,  where  the  church  bearing  that 
name  lifts  its  head,  surrounded  by  its  avenues 
of  bamboo,  in  the  middle  of  a  spacious  plain ; 
and  the  prospect  terminates  in  a  forest  extend- 
ing to  the  furthest  bounds  of  the  island.  The 
front  view  presents  the  bay,  denominated  the 

I   Paul  and  Virginia  ;>>:; 


34  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Bay  of  the  Tomb ;  a  little  on  the  right  is  seen 
the  Cape  of  Misfortune ;  and  beyond  rolls  the 
expanded  ocean,  on  the  surface  of  which  ap- 
pears a  few  uninhabited  islands ;  and,  among 
others,  the  Point  of  Endeavor,  which  resem- 
bles a  bastion  built  upon  the  flood. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  valley  which  presents 
these  various  objects,  the  echoes  of  the  moun- 
tain incessantly  repeat  the  hollow  murmurs  of 
the  winds  that  shake  the  neighboring  forests, 
and  the  tumultuous  dashing  of  the  waves 
which  break  at  a  distance  upon  the  cliffs ;  but 
near  the  ruined  cottages  all  is  calm  and  still, 
and  the  only  objects  which  there  meet  the  eye 
are  rude  steep  rocks,  that  rise  like  a  surround- 
ing rampart.  Large  clumps  of  trees  grow  at 
their  base,  on  their  rifted  sides,  and  even  on 
their  majestic  tops,  where  the  clouds  seem  to 
repose.  The  showers,  which  their  bold  points 
attract,  often  paint  the  vivid  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow on  their  green  and  brown  declivities,  and 
swell  the  sources  of  the  little  river  which  flows 
at  their  feet,  called  the  river  of  Fan-Palms. 
Within  this  inclosure  reigns  the  most  profound 
silence.  The  waters,  the  air,  all  the  elements 
are  at  peace.  Scarcely  does  the  echo  repeat 
the  whispers  of  the  palm-trees,  spreading  their 
broad  leaves,  the  long  points  of  which  are 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  35 

gently  agitated  by  the  winds.  A  soft  light 
illumines  the  bottom  of  this  deep  valley,  on 
which  the  sun  shines  only  at  noon.  But,  even 
at  break  of  day,  the  rays  of  light  are  thrown 
on  the  surrounding  rocks;  and  their  sharp 
peaks,  rising  above  the  shadows  of  the  moun- 
tains, appear  like  tints  of  gold  and  purple 
gleaming  upon  the  azure  sky. 

To  this  scene  I  loved  to  resort,  as  I  could 
here  enjoy  at  once  the  richness  of  an  un- 
bounded landscape,  and  the  charm  of  uninter- 
rupted solitude.  One  day,  when  I  was  seated 
at  the  foot  of  the  cottages,  and  contemplating 
their  ruins,  a  man,  advanced  in  years,  passed 
near  the  spot.  He  was  dressed  in  the  ancient 
garb  of  the  island,  his  feet_were  bare,  and  he 
leaned  upon  a~StafF  of  ebony;  his  iEair  was 
white,  and  the  expression  of  his  countenance 
was  dignified  and  interesting.  I  bowed  to  him 
with  respect ;  he  returned  the  salutation ;  and, 
after  looking  at  me  with  some  earnestness, 
came  and  placed  himself  upon  the  hillock  on 
which  I  was  seated.  Encouraged  by  this 
mark  of  confidence,  I  thus  addressed  him: 
"Father,  can  you  tell  me  to  whom  those  cot- 
tages once  belonged?" — "My  son,"  replied  the 
old  man,  "those  heaps  of  rubbish,  and  that  un- 
tilled  land,  were,  twenty  years  ago,  the  prop- 


36  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

erty  of  two  families,  who  then  found  happi- 
ness in  this  solitude.  Their  history  is  affect- 
ing; but  what  European,  pursuing  his  way  to 
the  Indies,  will  pause  one  moment  to  interest 
himself  in  the  fate  of  a  few  obscure  individu- 
als? What  European  can  picture  happiness  to 
his  imagination  amidst  poverty  and  neglect? 
The  curiosity  of  mankind  is  only  attracted  by 
the  history  of  the  great,  and  yet  from  that 
knowledge  little  use  can  be  .  derived. ' ' — 
"Father,"  I  rejoined,  "from  your  manner  and 
your  observations,  I  perceive  that  you  have  ac- 
quired much  experience  of  human  life.  If  you 
have  leisure,  relate  to  me,  I  beseech  you,  the 
history  of  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  this  desert ; 
and  be  assured,  that  even  the  men  who  are 
most  perverted  by  the  prejudices  of  the  world, 
find  a  soothing  pleasure  in  contemplatingjthat 

happiness   wViirVi  .:hf4<wg^  fn    ^rmplioity     arn^ 

virtue."  The  old  man,  after  a  short  silence, 
during  which  he  leaned  his  face  upon  his 
hands,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  recall  the  images 

of  the  past,  thus  began  his  narration : 

Monsieur  de  la  Tour,  a  young  man  who  was 
a  native  of  Normandy,  after  having  in  vain 
solicited  a  commission  in  the  French  army,  or 
some  support  from  his  own  family,  at  length 
determined  to  seek  his  fortune  in  this  island, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  37 

where  he  arrived  in  1726.  He  brought  hither 
a  young  woman,  whom  he  loved  tenderly,  and 
by  whom  he  was  no  less  tenderly  beloved.  She 
belonged  to  a  rich  and  ancient  family  of  the 
same  province :  but  he  had  married  her  secretly 
and  without  fortune,  and  in  opposition  to  the 
will  of  her  relations,  who  refused  their  consent 
because  he  was  found  guilty  of  being  descended 
from  parents  who  had  no  claims  to  nobility. 
Monsieur  de  la  Tour,  leaving  his  wife  at  Port 
Louis,  embarked  for  Madagascar,  in  order  to_ 
purchase  a  fejw_jla^e^^AS^stJhim-jnjEorming' 
a  plantation  on  this  island^  He  landed  at 
Madagascar  during  that  unhealthy_..season 
which  con^enc^^tKJTittRe  mlddlejQf  October^ 
and  soon  after  his  arrival  died  of  the  pestilen- 
tial fever,  which  prevails  in  that  island  six 
monthlPof  the  year,  and  which  will  forever 
baffle  the  attempts  of  the  European  nations  to 
form  establishments  on  that  fatal  soil.  His 
effects  were  seized  upon  by  the  rapacity  of 
strangers,  as  commonly  happens  to  persons 
dying  in  foreign  parts ;  and  his  wife,  who  was 
pregnant,  found  herself  a  widow  in  a  country 
where  she  had  neither  credit  nor  acquaintance, 
and  no  earthly  possession,  or  rather  support, 
but  oneSiegro  woman.  Too  delicate  to  solicit 
protection  or  relief  from  any  one  else  after  the 


88  PAUL   AND  VIRGINIA. 

death  of  him  whom  alone  she  loved,  misfortune 
armed  her  with  courage,  and  she  resolved  to 
cultivate,  with  her  slave,  a  little  spot  of 
ground,  and  procure  for  herself  the  means  of 
subsistence. 

Desert  as  was  the  island,  and  the  ground  left 
to  the  choice  of  the  settler,  she  avoided  those 
spots  which  were  most  fertile  and  most  favor- 
able to  commerce :  seeking  some  nook  of  the 
mountain,  some  secret  asylum  where  she  might 
live  solitary  and  unknown,  she  bent  her  way 
from  the  town  towards  these  rocks,  where  she 
might  conceal  herself  from  observation.  All 
sensitive  and  suffering  creatures,  from  a  sort 
of  common  instinct,  fly  for  refuge  amidst  the 
pains  to  haunts  the  most  wild  and  desolate ;  as 
if  rocks  could  form  a  rampart  against  misfor- 
tune— as  if  the  calm  of  Nature  could  hush  the 
tumults  of  the  soul.  That  Providence,  which 
lends  its  support  when  we  ask  but  the  supply 
of  our  necessary  wants,  had  a  blessing  in  re- 
serve for  Madame  de  la  Tour,  which  neither 
riches  nor  greatness  can  purchase: — this  bless- 
ing was  a  friend. 

The  spot  to  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  had 
fled  had  already  been  inhabited  for  a  year  by 
a  young  woman  of  a  lively,  good-natured  and 
affectionate  disposition.  Margaret  (for  that 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  39 

Was  her  name)  was  born  in  Brittany,  of  a  fam- 
ily of  peasants,  by  whom  she  was  cherished 
and  beloved,  and  with  whom  she  might  have 
passed  through  life  in  simple  rustic  happiness, 
if,  misled  by  the  weakness  of  a  tender  heart, 
she  had  not  listened  to  the  passion  of  a  gentle- 
man in  the  neighborhood,  who  promised  her 
marriage.  He  soon  abandoned  her,  and  add- 
ing inhumanity  to  seduction,  refused  to  insure 
a  provision  for  the  child  of  which  she  was 
pregnant.  Margaret  then  determined  to  leave 
forever  her  native  village,  and  retire,  where 
her  fault  mightjbe  concealed,  to  some  colony 
distant  from  thalTcounTry  where  shgJiadToSt 
the  only  portion  of  a  poor  peasant  girl — her 
reputation.  With  some  borrowed  money  she 
purchased  an  old  negro  slave,  with  whom  she 
cultivated  a  little  corner  of  this  district. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  followed  by  her  negro 
woman,  came  to  this  spot,  where  she  found 
Margaret  engaged  in  suckling  her  child. 
Soothed  and  charmed  by  the  sight  of  a  person 
in  a  situation  somewhat  similar  to  her  own, 
Madame  de  la  Tour  related,  in  a  few  words, 
her  past  condition  and  her  present  wants.  Mar- 
garet was  deeply  affected  by  the  recital ;  and 
more  anxious  to  merit  confidence  than  to  create 
esteem,  she  confessed  without  disguise,  the 


40  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

errors  of  which  she  had  been  guilty.  "As  for 
me,"  said  she,  "I  deserve  my  fate:  but  you, 
madam — you !  at  once  virtuous  and  unhappy, ' ' 
— and,  sobbing,  she  offered  Madame  de  la  Tour 
both  her  hut  and  her  friendship.  That  lady, 
affected  by  this  tender  reception,  pressed  her 
in  her  arms,  and  exclaimed, — "Ah,  surely 
Heaven  has  put  an  end  to  my  misfortunes, 
since  it  inspires  you,  to  whom  I  am  a  stranger, 
with  more  goodness  towards  me  than  I  have 
ever  experienced  from  my  own  relations!" 

I  was  acquainted  with  Margaret:  and,  al- 
though my  habitation  is  a  league  and  a  half 
from  hence,  in  the  woods  behind  that  sloping 
mountain,  I  considered  myself  as  her  neighbor. 
In  the  cities  of  Europe,  a  street,  even  a  simple 
wall,  frequently  prevents  members-jof  the  same 
family  from  meeting  for  years ;  but  in  new  col- 
onies we  consider  those  persons  as  neighbors 
from  whom  we  are  divided  only  by  woods  and 
mountains;  and,  above  all,  at  that  period, 
when  this  island  had  little  intercourse  with 
the  Indies,  vicinity  alone  gave  a  claim  to 
friendship,  and  hospitality  towards  strangers 
seemed  less  a  duty  than  a  pleasure.  No  sooner 
was  I  informed  that  Margaret  had  found  a  com- 
panion, than  I  hastened  to  her,  in  the  hope  of 
being  useful  to  my  neighbor  and  her  guest.  I 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  41 

found  Madame  de  la  Tour  possessed  of  all 
those  melancholy  graces  which,  by  blending 
smypathy  with  admiration  gave  to  beauty  ad- 
ditional power.  Her  countenance  was  interest- 
ing, expressive  at  once  of  dignity  and  dejection. 
She  appeared  to  be  in  the  last  stage  of  her 
pregnancy.  I  told  the  two  friends  that  for  the 
future  interest  of  their  children,  and  to  prevent 
the  intrusion  of  any  other  settler,  they  had 
better  divide  between  them  the  property  of  this 
wild,  sequestered  valley,  which  is  nearly 
twenty  acres  in  extent.  They  confided  that 
task  to  me,  and  I  marked  out  two  equal  por- 
tions of  land.  One  included  the  higher  part  of 
this  inclosure,  from  the  cloudy  pinnacle  of  that 
rock,  whence  springs  the  river  of  Fan-Palms, 
to  that  precipitous  cleft  which  you  see  on  the 
summit  of  the  mountain,  and  which,  from  its 
resemblance  in  form  to  the  battlement  of  a 
fortress,  is  called  the  Embrasure.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  find  a  path  along  this  wild  portion  of 
the  inclosure,  the  soil  of  which  is  encumbered 
with  fragments  of  rock,  or  worn  into  channels 
formed  by  torrents;  yet  it  produces  noble 
trees,  and  innumerable  springs  and  rivulets. 
The  other  portion  of  land  comprised  the  plain 
extending  along  the  banks  of  the  river  of  Fan- 
Palms,  to  the  opening  where  we  are  now 


42  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

seated,  whence  the  river  takes  its  course  be- 
tween those  two  hills,  until  it  falls  into  the  sea. 
You  may  still  trace  the  vestiges  of  some  mea- 
dow land ;  and  this  part  of  the  common  is  less 
rugged,  but  not  more  valuable  than  the  other ; 
since  in  the  rainy  season  it  becomes  marshy, 
and  in  dry  weather  is  so  hard  and  unyielding, 
that  it  will  almost  resist  the  stroke  of  a  pickax. 
When  I  had  thus  divided  the  property,  I  per- 
suaded my  neighbors  to  draw  lots  for  their  re- 
spective possessions.  The  higher  portion  of 
land,  containing  the  source  of  the  river  of 
Fan-Palms,  became  the  property  of  .Madame 
de  la  Tour ;  the  lower,  comprising  the  plain  on 
the  banks  of  the  river,  was  allotted  to  Marga- 
ret ;  and  each  seemed  satisfied  with  her  share. 
They  entreated  me  to  place  their  habitations 
together,  that  they  might  at  all  times  enjoy 
the  soothing  intercourse  of  friendship,  and  the 
consolation  of  mutual  kind  offices.  Margaret's 
cottage  was  situated  near  the  center  of  the  val- 
ley, and  just  on  the  boundary  of  her  own  plan- 
tation. Close  to  that  spot  I  built  another  cot- 
tage for  the  residence  of  Madame  de  la  Tour ; 
and  thus  the  two  friends,  while  they  possessed 
all  the  advantages  of  neighborhood,  lived  on 
their  own  property.  I  myself  cut  palisades 
from  the  mountain,  and  brought  leaves  of  fan- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  43 

palms  from  the  sea-shore  in  order  to  construct 
those  two  cottages,  of  which  you  can  now  dis- 
cern neither  the  entrance  nor  the  roof.  Yet, 
alas !  there  still  remain  but  too  many  traces  for 
my  remembrance!  Time,  which  so  rapidly 
destroys  the  proud  monuments  of  empires, 
seems  in  this  desert  to  spare  those  of  friendship, 
as  if  to  perpetuate  my  regrets  to  the  last  hour 
of  my  existence. 

As  soon  as  the  second  cottage  was  finished, 
Madame  de  la  Tour  was  delivered  of  a  girl.  I 
had  been  the  godfather  of  Margaret's  child, 
who  was  christened  by  the  name  of  Paul. 
Madame  de  la  Tour  desired  me  to  perform  the 
same  office  for  her  child  also,  together  with  her 
friend,  who  gave  her  the  name  of  Virginia. 
"She  will  be__virjLUOUsr?>  cried  Margaret,  "and 
she-w3F-be  happy.  I  have  only  known  misfor- 
une  by  wandering  from  virtue. ' ' 

About  the  time  Madame  de  la  Tour  recov- 
ered, these  two  little  estates  had  already  begun 
to  yield  some  produce,  perhaps  in  a  small  de- 
gree owing  to  the  care  which  I  occasionally  be- 
stowed on  their  improvement,  but  far  more  to 
the  indefatigable  labors  of  the  two  slaves. 
Margaret's  slave,  who  v/as  called  Domingo, 
was  still  healthy  and  robust,  though  advanced 
in  years:  he  possessed  some  knowledge,  and  a 


44  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

good  natural  understanding.  He  cultivated 
indiscriminately,  on  both  plantations,  the  spots 
of  ground  that  seemed  most  fertile,  and  sowed 
whatever  grain  he  thought  most  congenial  to 
each  particular  soil.  Where  the  ground  was 
poor,  he  strewed  maize;  where  it  was  most 
fruitful,  he  planted  wheat;  and  rice  in  such 
spots  as  were  marshy.  He  threw  the  seeds  of 
gourds  and  cucumbers  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks, 
which  they  loved  to  climb  and  decorate  with 
their  luxuriant  foliage.  In  dry  spots  he  culti- 
vated the  sweet  potato ;  the  cotton-tree  flour- 
ished upon  the  heights,  and  the  sugar-cane 
grew  in  the  clayey  soil.  He  reared  some 
plants  of  coffee  on  the  hills,  where  the  grain, 
although  small,  is  excellent.  His  plantain- 
trees,  which  spread  their  grateful  shade  on  the 
banks  of  the  river,  and  encircled  the  cottages, 
yielded  fruit  throughout  the  year.  And,  lastly, 
Domingo,  to  soothe  his  cares,  cultivated  a  few 
plants  of  tobacco.  Sometimes  he  was  employed 
in  cutting  wood  for  firing  from  the  mountain, 
sometimes  in  hewing  pieces  of  rock  within  the 
inclosure,  in  order  to  level  the  paths.  The  zeal 
which  inspired  him  enabled  him  to  perform  all 
these  labors  with  intelligence  and  activity. 
He  was  much  attached  to  Margaret,  and  not 
less  to  Madame  de  la  Tour,  whose  negro 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  45 

woman,  Mary,  he  had  married  on  the  birth  of 
Virginia ;  and  he  was  passionately  fond  of  his 
wife.  Mary  was  born  at  Madagascar,  and  had 
there  acquired  the  knowledge  of  some  useful 
arts.  She  could  weave  baskets,  and  a  sort  of 
stuff,  with  long  grass  that  grows  in  the  woods. 
She  was  active,  cleanly,  and,  above  all,  faith- 
ful. It  was  her  care  to  prepare  their  meals,  to 
rear  the  poultry,  and  go  sometimes  to  Port 
Louis,  to  sell  the  superfluous  produce  of  these 
little  plantations,  which  was  not,  however,  very 
considerable.  If  you  add  to  the  personages 
already  mentioned  two  goats,  which  were 
brought  up  with  the  children,  and  a  great  dog, 
which  kept  watch  at  night,  you  will  have  a 
complete  idea  of  the  household,  as  well  as  of 
the  productions  of  these  two  little  farms. 
Madame  de  la  Tour  and  her  friend  were  con- 
stantly employed  in  spinning  cotton  for  the  use 
of  their  families.  Destitute  of  everything 
which  their  own  industry  could  not  supply,  at 
home  they  went  barefooted;  shoes  were  a  con- 
•enience  reserved  for  Sunday,  on  which  day,  at 
early  hour,  they  attended  mass  at  the  church 
of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  which  you  see  yonder. 
That  church  was  more  distant  from  their  homes 
than  Port  Louis;  but  they  seldom  visited  the 
town,  lest  they  should  be  treated  with  con- 


46 

tempt  on  account  of  their  dress,  which  con- 
sisted simply  of  the  coarse  blue  linen  of  Ben- 
gal, usually  worn  by  slaves.  But  is  there,  in 
that  external  deference  which  fortune  com- 
mands, a  compensation  for  domestic  happi- 
ness? If  these  interesting  women  had  some- 
thing to  suffer  from  the  world,  their  homes  on 
that  very  account  became  more  dear  to  them. 
No  sooner  did  Mary  and  Domingo,  from  this 
elevated  spot,  perceive  their  mistresses  on  the 
road  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  than  they  flew  to 
the  foot  of  the  mountain  in  order  to  help  them 
to  ascend.  They  discerned  in  the  looks  of  their 
domestics  the  joy  which  their  return  excited. 
They  found  in  their  retreat  neatness,  independ- 
ence, all  the  blessings  which  are  the  recom- 
pense of  toil,  and  they  received  the  zealous 
services  which  spring  from  affection.  United 
by  the  tie  of  similar  wants,  and  the  sympathy 
of  similar  misfortunes,  they  gave  each  other  the 
tender  names  of  companion,  friend,  sister. 
They  had  but  one  will,  one  interest,  one  table. 
All  their  possessions  were  in  common.  And  if 
sometimes  a  passion  more  ardent  than  friend- 
ship awakened  in  their  hearts  the  pang  of  una- 
vailing anguish,  a  pure  religion,  united  with 
chaste  manners,  drew  their  affections  towards 
anothei  life :  as  the  trembling  flame  rises  to- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  47 

wards  heaven,  when  it  no  longer  finds  any  ali- 
ment on  earth. 

The  duties  of  maternity  became  a  source  of 
additional  happiness  to  these  affectionate 
mothers,  whose  mutual  friendship  gained  new 
strength  at  the  sight  of  their  children,  equally 
the  offspring  of  an  ill-fated  attachment.  They 
delighted  in  washing  their  infants  together  in 
the  same  bath,  in  putting  them  to  rest  in  the 
same  cradle,  and  in  changing  the  maternal 
bosom  at  which  they  received  nourishment. 
"My  friend,"  cried  Madame  de  la  Tour,  "we 
shall  each  of  us  have  two  children,  and  each  of 
our  children  will  have  two  mothers. "  As  two 
buds  which  remain  on  different  trees  of  the 
same  kind,  after  the  tempest  has  broken  all 
their  branches,  produce  more  delicious  fruit,  if 
each,  separated  from  the  maternal  stem,  be 
grafted  on  the  neighboring  tree,  so  these  tw,o 
infants,  deprived  of  all  their  other  relations, 
when  thus  exchanged  for  nourishmnt  by  those 
who  had  given  them  birth,  imbibed  feelings  of 
affection  still  more  tender  than  those  of  son 
and  daughter,  brother  and  sister.  While  they 
were  yet  in  their  cradles,  their  mothers  talked 
of  their  marriage.  They  soothed  their  own 
ares  by  looking  forward  to  the  future  happi- 
ess  of  their  children ;  but  this  contemplation 


48  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

often  drew  forth  their  tears.  The  misfortunes 
of  one  mother  had  arisen  from  having  neg- 
lected marriage ;  those  of  the  other  for  having 
submitted  to  its  laws.  One  had  suffered  by 
aiming  to  rise  above  her  condition,  the  other 
by  descending  from  her  rank.  But  they  found 
consolation  in  reflecting  that  their  more  fortu- 
/iiate  children,  far  from  the.  cruel  ^prejudices  of 
Europe,  would  enjoy"  at  once  the  pleasures  of 
love  and  the  blessings  of  equality. 

Rarelyfindeed,  has  such  an  attachment  been 
seen  as  that  which  the  two  children  already 
testified  for  each  other.  If  Paul  complained  of 
anything,  his  mother  pointed  to  Virginia ;  at 
her  sight  he  smiled,  and  was  appeased.  If  any 
accident  befell  Virginia,  the  cries  of  Paul  gave 
notice  of  the  disaster;  but  the  dear  little  crea- 
ture would  suppress  her  complaints  if  she  found 
that  he  was  unhappy.  When  I  came  hither,  I 
usually  found  them  quite  naked,  as  is  the  cus- 
tom of  the  country,  tottering  in  their  walks,  and 
holding  each  other  by  the  hands  and  under  the 
arms,  as  we  see  represented  the  constellation 
of  the  Twins.  At  night  these  infants  often  re- 
fused to  be  separated,  and  were  found  lying  in 
the  same  cradle,  their  cheeks,  their  bosoms 
pressed  close  together,  their  hands  thrown 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  49 

round  each  other's  neck,  and  sleeping,  locked 
in  one  another's  arms. 

When  they  began  to  speak,  the  first  name 
they  learned  to  give  each  other  were  those  of 
brother  and  sister,  and  childhood  knows  no 
softer  appellation.  Their  education,  by  direct- 
ing them  ever  to  consider  each  other's  wants, 
tended  greatly  to  increase  their  affection.  In 
a  short  time,  all  the  household  economy,  the 
care  of  preparing  their  rural  repasts,  became 
the  task  of  Virginia,  whose  labors  were  always 
crowned  with  the  praises  and  kisses  of  her 
brother.  As  for  Paul,  always  in  motion,  he 
dug  the  garden  with  Domingo,  or  followed  him 
with  a  little  hatchet  into  the  woods ;  and  if  in 
his  rambles  he  espied  a  beautiful  flower,  any 
delicious  fruit,  or  a  nest  of  birds,  even  at  the 
top  of  the  tree,  he  would  climb  up  and  bring 
the  spoil  to  his  sister.  When  you  met  one  of 
these  children,  you  might  be  sure  the  other  was 
not  far  off. 

One  day  as  I  was  coming  down  that  mount- 
ain, I  saw  Virginia  at  the  end  of  the  garden 
/running  towards  the  house  with  her  petticoat 
\  I  thrown  over  her  head,  in  order  to  screen  her- 
j  self  from  a  shower  of  rain.     At  a  distance,  I 
|  thought  she  was  alone ;  but  as  I  hastened  to- 
wards her  in  order  to  help  her  on,  I  perceived 

4    Paul  and  Virginia 


50  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

she  held  Paul  by  the  arm,  almost  entirely  en- 
veloped in  the  same  canopy,  and  both  were 
laughing  heartily  at  their  being  sheltered  to- 
gether under  an  umbrella  of  their  own  inven- 
tion. Those  two  charming  faces  in  the  middle 

/of  a  swelling  petticoat,  recalled  to  my  mind 
A  the  children  of  Leda,  inclosed  in  the  same 

/shell.  Their  sole  study  was  how  they  could 
please  and  assist  one  another ;  for  of  all  other 
things  they  were  ignorant,  and,  indeed,  could 
neither  read  nor  write.  They  were  never  dis- 
turbed by  inquiries  about  past  times,  nor  did 
their  curiosity  extend  beyond  the  bounds  of 
their  mountain.  They  believed  the  world 
ended  at  the  shores  of  their  own  island,  and  all 
their  ideas  and  all  their  affections  were  confined 
within  its  limits.  Their  mutual  tenderness, 
and  that  of  their  mothers,  employed  all  the 
energies  of  their  minds.  Their  tears  had  never 
been  called  forth  by  tedious  application  to  use- 
less sciences.  Their  minds  had  never  been 
wearied  by  lessons  of  morality,  superfluous  to 
bosoms  unconscious  of  ill.  They  had  never 
been  taught  not  to  steal,  because  everything 
with  them  was  in  common ;  or  not  to  be  intem- 
perate, because  their  simple  food  was  left  to 
their  own  discretion;  or  not  to  lie,  because 
they  had  nothing  to  conceal.  Their  young 


"Under  an  umbrella  of  their  own  invention/1 — Page  50. 

Paul  and  Virginia, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  51 

- 

imaginations  had  never  been  terrified  by  the 
Jidea  that  God  has  punishment  in  store  for  un- 
grateful children,  since  with  them,  filial  affec- 
I  tion  arose  naturally  from  maternal  tenderness. 
All  they  had  been  taught  of  religion  was  to 
love  it,  and  if  they  did  not  offer  up  long  prayers 
in  the  church,  wherever  they  were,   in    the 
house,  in  the  fields,  in  the  woods,  they  raised 
towards  heaven    their    innocent    hands,    and 
hearts  purified  by  virtuous  affections. 

All  their  early  childhood  passed  thus,  like  a 
beautiful  dawn,  the  prelude .  of  a  bright  day. 
Already  they  assisted  their  mothers  in  the 
duties  of  the  household.  As  soon  as  the  crow- 
ing of  the  wakeful  cock  announced  the  first 
beam  of  the  morning,  Virginia  arose,  and  has- 
tened to  draw  water  from  a  neighboring  spring : 
then  returning  to  the  house,  she  prepared  the 
breakfast.  When  the  rising  sun  gilded  the 
points  of  the  rocks  which  overhang  the  inclos- 
ure  in  which  they  lived,  Margaret  and  her  child 
«  repaired  to  the  dwelling  of  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
where  they  offered  up  their  morning  prayer 
'  together.  This  sacrifice  of  thanksgiving 
always  preceded  their  first  repast,  which  they 
often  took  before  the  door  of  the  cottage, 
seated  upon  the  grass,  under  a  canopy  of  plan- 
tain :  and  while  the  branches  of  that  delicious 


52  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

tree  afforded  a  grateful  shade,  its  fruit  fur- 
nished a  substantial  food  ready  prepared  for 
them  by  nature,  and  its  long  glossy  leaves, 
spread  upon  the  table,  supplied  the  place  of 
linen.  Plentiful  and  wholesome  nourishment 
gave  early  growth  and  vigor  to  the  persons  of 
these  children,  and  their  countenances  ex- 
pressed the  purity  and  peace  of  their  souls.  At 
twelve  years  of  age  the  figure  of  Virginia  was 
in  some  degree  formed ;  a  profusion  of  light 
hair  shaded  her  face,  to  which  her  blue  eyes 
and  coral  lips  gave  the  most  charming  brilli- 
ancy. Her  eyes  sparkled  with  vivacity  when 
she  spoke ;  but  when  she  was  silent  they  were 
habitually  turned  upwards  with  an  expression 
of  extreme  sensibility,  or  rather  of  tender  mel- 
ancholy. The  figure  of  Paul  began  already  to 
display  the  graces  of  youthful  beauty.  He  was 
taller  than  Virginia;  his  skin  was  a  darker  tint; 
his  nose  more  aquiline,  and  his  black  eyes 
would  have  been  too  piercing,  if  the  long  eye- 
lashes by  which  they  were  shaded  had  not  im- 
parted to  them  an  expression  of  softness. 
He  was  constantly  in  motion,  except  when  his 
sister  appeared,  and  then,  seated  by  her  side, 
he  became  still.  Their  meals  often  passed  with- 
out a  word  being  spoken,  and  from  their 
silence,  the  simple  elegance  of  their  attitudes 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  53 

and  the  beauty  of  their  naked  feet,  you  might 
have  fancied  you  beheld  an  antique  group  of 
white  marble,  representing  some  of  the  chil- 
dren of  Niobe,  but  for  the  glances  of  their  eyes, 
which  were  constantly  seeking  to  meet,  and 
their  mutual  soft  and  tender  smiles,  which  sug- 
gested rather  the  idea  of  happy  celestial  spirits, 
whose  nature  is  love,  and  who  are  not  obliged 
to  have  recourse  to  words  for  the  expression  of 
their  feelings. 

In  the  meantime,  Madame  de  la  Tour,  per- 
ceiving every  day  some  unfolding  grace,  some 
new  beauty,  in  her  daughter,  felt  her  maternal 
anxiety  increase  with  her  tenderness.  She 
often  said  to  me,  'If  I  were  to  die,  what  will 
become  of  Virginia  without  fortune? 

Madame  de  la  Tour  had  an  aunt  in  France, 
who  was  a  woman  of  quality,  rich,  old,  and  a 
complete  devotee.  She  had  behaved  with  so 
much  cruelty  towards  her  niece  upon  her  mar- 
riage, that  Madame  de  la  Tour  had  determined 
no  extremity  of  distress  should  ever  compel 
her  to  have  recourse  to  her  hard-hearted  rela- 
tion. But  when  she  became  a  mother,  the 
pride  of  resentment  was  overcome  by  the 
stronger  feelings  of  maternal  tenderness.  She 
wrote  to  her  aunt,  informing  her  of  the  sudden 
death  of  her  husband,  and  the  birth  of  her 


54  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

daughter,  and  the  difficulties  in  which  she  was 
involved,  burdened  as  she  was  with  an  infant, 
and  without  means  of  support.  She  received 
no  answer ;  but  notwithstanding  the  high  spirit 
natural  to  her  character,  she  no  longer  feared 
exposing  herself  to  mortification ;  and,  although 
she  knew  her  aunt  would  never  pardon  her  for 
having  married  a  man  who  was  not  of  noble 
birth,  however  estimable,  she  continued  to 
write  to  her,  with  the  hope  of  awakening  her 
compassion  for  Virginia.  Many  years,  how- 
ever, passed  without  receiving  any  token  of  her 
remembrance. 

At  length,  in  1 738,  three  years  after  the  ar- 
rival of  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  in  this 
island,  Madame  de  la  Tour  was  informed  that 
the  Governor  had  a  letter  to  give  her  from  her 
aunt.  She  flew  to  Port  Louis,  maternal  joy 
raised  her  mind  above  all  trifling  considera- 
tions, and  she  was  careless  on  this  occasion  of 
appearing  in  her  homely  attire.  Monsieur  de 
la  Bourdonnais  gave  her  a  letter  from  her  aunt, 
In  which  she  informed  her,  that  she  deserved 
her  fate  for  marrying  an  adventurer  and  a  lib- 
ertine; that  the  passions  brought  with  them 
their  own  punishment;  that  the  premature 
death  of  her  husband  was  a  just  visitation  from 
Heaven,  that  she  had  done  well  in  going  to  a 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  65 

distant  island,  rather  than  dishonor  her  family 
by  remaining  in  France ;  and  that,  after  all,  in 
the  colony  where  she  had  taken  refuge,  none 
but  the  idle  failed  to  grow  rich.  Having  thus 
censured  her  niece,  she  concluded  by  eulogiz- 
ing herself.  To  avoid,  she  said,  the  almost 
inevitable  evils  of  marriage,  she  had  deter- 
mined to  remain  single.  In  fact,  as  she  was 
of  a  very  ambitious  disposition,  she  had  re- 
solved to  marry  none  but  a  man  of  high  rank, 
but  although  she  was  very  rich,  her  fortune 
was  not  found  a  sufficient  bribe,  even  at  court, 
to  counterbalance  the  malignant  dispositions  of 
her  mind,  and  the  disagreeable  qualities  of  her 
nature. 

After  mature  deliberations,  she  added,  in  a 
postscript,  that  she  had  strongly  lecommended 
her  niece  to  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais.  This 
she  had,  indeed,  done,  but  in  a  manner  of  late 
too  common,  which  renders  a  patron  perhaps 
even  more  to  be  feared  than  a  declared  enemy, 
for,  in  order  to  justify  herself  for  her  harsh- 
ness, she  had  cruelly  slandered  her  niece, 
while  she  affected  to  pity  her  misfortunes. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  whom  no  unprejudiced 
person  could  have  seen  without  feelings  of 
sympathy  and  respect,  was  received  with  the 
utmost  Coolness  by  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdon- 


56  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

nais,  biased  as  he  was  against  her.  When  she 
painted  to  him  her  own  situation  and  that  of  her 
child,  he  replied  in  abrupt  sentences, — "We 
will  see  what  can  be  done — there  are  so  many 
to  relieve — all  in  good  time — why  did  you  dis- 
please your  aunt? — you  have  been  much  to 
blame." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  returned  to  her  cottage, 
her  heart  torn  with  grief,  and  filled  with  all 
the  bitterness  of  disappointment.  When  she 
arrived  she  threw  her  aunt's  letter  on  the 
table,  and  exclaimed  to  her  friend,  "There  is 
the  fruit  of  eleven  years  of  patient  expecta- 
tion!" Madame  de  la  Tour  being  the  only  per- 
son in  the  little  circle  who  could  read,  she  again 
took  up  the  letter,  and  read  it  aloud.  Scarcely 
had  she  finished,  when  Margaret  exclaimed, 
"What  have  we  to  do  with  your  relations?  Has 
God  then  forsaken  us?  He  only  is  our  Father! 
Have  we  not  hitherto  been  happy?  Why  then 
this  regret?  You  have  no  courage."  Seeing 
Madame  de  la  Tour  in  tears,  she  threw  herself 
upon  her  neck,  and  pressing  her  in  her  arms, 
— "My  dear  friend?"  cried  she,  "my  dear 
friend!" — but  her  emotion  choked  her  utter- 
ance. At  this  sight  Virginia  burst  into  tears, 
and  pressed  her  mother's  and  Margaret's  hand 
alternately  to  her  lips  and  heart;  while  Paul, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  57 

his  eyes  inflamed  with  anger,  cried,  clasping 
his  hands  together,  and  stamping  with  his  foot, 
not  knowing  whom  to  blame  for  this  scene  of 
misery.  The  noise  soon  brought  Domingo  and 
Mary  to  the  spot,  and  the  little  habitation  re- 
sounded with  cries  of  distress, — "Ah,  madam! 
— My  good  mistress! — My  dear  mother! — Do 
not  weep!"  These  tender  proofs  of  affection 
at  length  dispelled  the  grief  of  Madame  de  la 
Tour.  She  took  Paul  and  Virginia  in  her  arms, 
and,  embracing  them,  said,  "You  are  the  cause 
of  my  affliction,  my  children,  but  you  are  also 
my  only  source  of  delight.'  Yes,  my  dear  chil- 
dren, misfortune  has  reached  me,  but  only 
(from  a  distance;  here  I  am  surrounded  with 
[happiness. ' '  Paul  and  Virginia  did  not  under- 
^tand  this  reflection ;  but  when  they  saw  that 
she  was  calm,  they  smiled,  and  continued  to 
caress  her.  Tranquillity  was  thus  restored  in 
this  happy  famliy,  and  all  that  had  passed  was 
but  as  a  storm  in  the  midst  of  fine  weather, 
which  disturbs  the  serenity  of  the  atmosphere 
but  for  a  short  time,  and  then  passes  away. 

The  amiable  disposition  of  these  children 
unfolded  itself  daily.  One  Sunday,  at  day- 
break, their  mothers  having  gone  to  mass  at 
the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  the  children 
perceived  a  negro  woman  beneath  the  plan- 


5&  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

tains  which  surrounded  their  habitation,  She 
appeared  almost  wasted  to  a  skeleton,  and  had 
no  other  garment  than  a  piece  of  coarse  cloth 
thrown  around  her.  She  threw  herself  at  the 
feet  of  Virginia,  who  was  preparing  the  family 
breakfast,  and  said,  "My  good  young  lady, 
have  pity  on  a  poor  runaway  slave.  For  a 
whole  month  I  have  wandered  among  these 
mountains,  half-dead  with  hunger,  and  often 
pursued  by  the  hunters  and  their  dogs.  I  fled 
from  my  master,  a  rich  planter  of  the  Black 
:  River,  who  has  used  me  as  you  see;"  and  she 
'  showed  her  body  marked  with  scars  from  the 
lashes  she  had  received.  She  added,  "I  was 
going  to  drown  myself,  but  hearing  you  lived 
here,  I  said  to  myself,  Since  there  are  still 
some  good  white  people  in  this  country,  I  need 
not  die  yet."  Virginia  answered  with  emo- 
tion,— "Take  courage,  unfortunate  creature! 
here  is  something  to  eat;"  and  she  gave  her 
the  breakfast  she  had  been  preparing,  which 
the  slave  in  few  minutes  devoured.  When  her 
hunger  was  appeased,  Virginia  said  to  her, — 
"Poor  woman!  I  should  like  to  go  and  ask  for- 
giveness for  you  of  your  master.  Surely,  the 
sight  of  you  will  touch  him  with  pity.  Will 
you  show  me  the  way?" — "Angel  of  heaven!" 
answered  the  poor  negro  woman, "I  will  follow 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  59 

you  where  you  please !"  Virginia  called  her 
brother  and  begged  him  to  accompany  her. 
The  slave  led  the  way,  by  winding  and  difficult 
paths,  ^hrough  the  woods,  over  mountains, 
which  they  climbed  with  difficulty,  and  across 
rivers,  through  which  they  were  obliged  to 
wade.  At  length,  about  the  middle  of  the  day, 
they  reached  the  foot  of  a  steep  descent  upon 
the  borders  of  the  Black  River.  There  they 
perceived  a  well-built  house,  surrounded  by 
extensive  plantations,  and  a  number  of  slaves 
employed  in  their  various  labors.  Their  mas- 
ter was  walking  among  them  with  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  and  a  switch  in  his  hand.  He  was  a 
tall,  thin  man,  of  a  brown  complexion;  his 
eyes  were  sunk  in  his  head,  and  his  dark  eye- 
brows were  joined  in  one.  Virginia,  holding 
Paul  by  the  hand,  drew  near,  and  with  much 
emotion  begged  him,  for  the  love  of  God,  to 
pardon  his  poor  slave,  who  stood  trembling  a 
few  paces  behind.  The  planter  at  first  paid 
little  attention  to  the  children,  who  he  saw, 
were  meanly  dressed.  But  when  he  observed 
the  elegance  of  Virginia's  form,  and  the  pro- 
fusion of  her  beautiful  light  tresses  which  had 
escaped  from  beneath  her  blue  cap ;  when  he 
heard  the  soft  tone  of  her  voice,  which  trem- 
bled, as  well  as  her  whole  frame,  while  she  im- 


60  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

plored  his  compassion ;  he  took  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  and  lifting  up  his  stick,  swore  with 
a  terrible  oath,  that  he  pardoned  his  slave,  not 
for  the  love  of  Heaven,  but  of  her  who  asked 
her  forgiveness.  Virginia  made  a  sign  to  the 
slave  to  approach  her  master ;  and  instantly 
sprang  away  followed  by  Paul. 

They  climbed  up  the  steep  they  had  des- 
cended ;  and  having  gained  the  summit,  seated 
themselves  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  overcome  with 
fatigue,  hunger  and  thirst.  They  had  left 
their  home  fasting,  and  walked  five  leagues 
since  sunrise.  Paul  said  to  Virginia, — "My 
dear  sister,  it  is  past  noon,  and  I  am  sure  you 
are  thirsty  and  hungry ;  we  shall  find  no  dinner 
here ;  let  us  go  down  the  mountain  again,  and 
ask  the  master  of  the  poor  slave  for  some 
food." — "Oh,  no,"  answered  Virginia,  "he 
frightens  me  too  much.  Remember  what 
mamma  sometimes  says,  'The  bread  of  the 
wicked  is  like  stones  in  the  mouth. '  " — "What 
shall  we  do  then?"  said  Paul;  "these  trees  pro- 
duce no  fruit  fit  to  eat ;  and  I  shall  not  be  able 
to  find  even  a  tamarind  or  a  lemon  to  refresh 
you." — "God  will  take  care  of  us,"  replied 
Virginia;  "he  listens  to  the  cry  even  of  the 
little  birds  when  they  ask  him  for  food." 
Scarcely  had  she  pronounced  these  words  when 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  61 

they  heard  the  noise  of  water  falling  from  a 
neighboring  rock.  They  ran  thither,  and  hav- 
ing quenched  their  thirst  at  this  crystal  spring, 
they  gathered  and  ate  a  few  cresses  which  grew 
on  the  border  of  the  stream.  Soon  afterward, 
while  they  were  wandering  backwards  and  for- 
wards, in  search  of  more  solid  nourishment, 
Virginia  perceived  in  the  thickest  part  of  the 
forest,  a  young  palm-tree.  The  kind  of  cab- 
bage which  is  found  at  the  top  of  the  palm, 
enfolded  within  its  leaves,  is  well  adapted  for 
food ;  but,  although  the  stock  of  the  tree  is  not 
thicker  than  a  man's  leg,  it  grows  to  above 
sixty  feet  in  height.  The  wood  of  the  tree, 
indeed,  is  composed  only  of  very  fine  filaments ; 
but  the  bark  is  so  hard  that  it  turns  the  edge 
of  the  hatchet,  and  Paul  was  not  furnished 
even  with  a  knife.  At  length  he  thought  of 
setting  fire  to  the  palm-tree ;  but  a  new  diffi- 
culty occurred :  he  had  no  steel  with  which  to 
strike  fire;  and  although  the  whole  island  is 
covered  with  rocks,  I  do  not  believe  it  is  pos- 
sible to  find  a  single  flint.  Necessity,  how- 
ever, is  fertile  in  expedients,  and  the  most 
useful  inventions  have  arisen  from  men  placed 
in  the  most  destitute  situations.  Paul  deter- 
mined to  kindle  a  fire  after  the  manner  of  the 
negroes.  With  the  sharp  end  of  a  stone  he 


62  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

made  a  small  hole  in  the  branch  of  a  tree  that 
was  quite  dry,  and  which  he  held  between  his 
feet :  he  then,  with  the  edge  of  the  same  stone, 
brought  to  a  point  another  dry  branch  of  a 
different  sort  of  wood,  and,  afterwards,  placing 
the  piece  of  pointed  wood  in  the  small  hole  of 
the  branch  which  he  held  with  his  feet  and 
turning  it  rapidly  between  his  hands,  in  a  few 
minutes  smoke  and  sparks  of  fire  issued  from 
the  point  of  contact.  Paul  then  heaped 
together  dried  gress  and  branches,  and  set  fire 
to  the  foot  of  the  palm-tree,  which  soon  fell  to 
the  ground  with  a  tremendous  crash.  The  fire 
was  further  useful  to  him  in  stripping  off  the 
long,  thick,  and  pointed  leaves,  within  which 
the  cabbage  was  inclosed.  Having  thus  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  this  fruit,  they  ate  part  of 
it  raw,  and  part  dressed  upon  the  ashes,  which 
they  found  equally  palatable.  They  made  this 
frugal  repast  with  delight,  from  the  remem- 
brance of  the  benevolent  action  they  had  per- 
formed in  the  morning:  yet  their  joy  was 
embittered  by  the  thoughts  of  the  uneasiness 
which  their  long  absence  from  home  would 
occasion  their  mothers.  Virginia  often 
recurred  to  this  subject;  but  Paul,  who  felt 
his  strength  renewed  by  their  meal,  assured 
her  that  it  would  not  be  long  before  they 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  63 

reached  home,  and,  by  the  assurance  of  their 
safety,  tranquilized  the  minds  of  their  parents. 
After  dinner  they  were  much  embarrassed 
by  the  recollection  that  they  had  now  no  guide, 
and  that  they  were  ignorant  of  the  way.  Paul, 
whose  spirit  was  not  subdued  by  difficulties, 
said  to  Virginia, — "The  sun  shines  full  upon 
our  huts  at  noon :  we  must  pass,  as  we  did  this 
morning,  over  that  mountain  with  its  three 
points,  which  you  see  yonder.  Come,  let  us  be 
moving."  This  mountain  was  that  of  the 
Three  Breasts,  so  called  from  the  form  of  its 
three  peaks.  They  then  descended  the  steep 
bank  of  the  Black  River,  on  the  northern  side ; 
and  arrived,  after  an  hour's  walk,  on  the  banks 
of  a  large  river,  which  stopped  their  further  pro- 
gress. This  large  portion  of  the  island,  covered 
as  it  is  with  forests,  is  even  now  so  little  known 
that  many  of  its  rivers  and  mountains  have  not 
yet  received  a  name.  The  stream,  on  the 
banks  of  which  Paul  and  Virginia  were  now 
standing,  rolls  foaming  over  a  bed  of  rocks. 
The  noise  of  the  water  frightened  Virginia, 
and  she  was  afraid  to  wade  through  the  cur- 
rent :  Paul  therefore  took  her  up  in  his  arms 
and  went  thus  loaded  over  the  slippery  rocks, 
which  formed  the  bed  of  the  river,  careless  of 
the  tumultuous  noise  of  its  waters.  "Do  not 


64  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

be  afraid,"  cried  he  to  Virginia;  "I  feel  very 
strong  with  you.  If  that  planter  at  the  Black 
River  had  refused  you  the  pardon  of  his  slave, 
I  would  have  fought  with  him." — "What?" 
answered  Virginia,  "with  that  great  wicked 
man?  To  what  have  I  exposed  you!  Gracious 
heaven !  how  difficult  it  is  to  do  good !  and  yet 
it  is  so  easy  to  do  wrong. " 

When  Paul  had  crossed  the  river,  he  wished 
to  continue  the  journey  carrying  his  sister: 
and  he  flattered  himself  that  he  could  ascend 
in  that  way  the  mountain  of  the  Three  Breasts, 
which  was  still  at  the  distance  of  half  a  league ; 
but  his  strength  soon  failed,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  set  down  his  burden,  and  to  rest  himself  by 
her  side.  Virginia  then  said  to  him,  "My  dear 
brother,  the  sun  is  going  down ;  you  have  still 
some  strength  left,  but  mine  has  quite  failed : 
do  leave  me  here,  and  return  home  alone  to 
ease  the  fears  of  our  mothers. ' ' — ' '  Oh  no, ' '  said 
Paul,  "I  will  not  leave  you;  if  night  overtakes 
us  in  this  wood  I  will  light  a  fire,  and  bring 
down  another  palm-tree;  you  shall  eat  the 
cabbage,  and  I  will  form  a  covering  of  the 
leaves  to  shelter  you. ' '  In  the  meantime,  Vir- 
ginia being  a  little  rested,  she  gathered  from 
the  trunk  of  an  old  tree,  which  overhung  the 
bank  of  the  river,  some  long  leaves  of  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  65 

plant  called  hart's  tongue,  which  grew  near  its 
root.  Of  these  leaves  she  made  a  sort  of 
buskin,  with  which  she  covered  her  feet,  that 
were  bleeding  from  the  sharpness  of  the  stony 
paths ;  for  in  her  eager  desire  to  do  good,  she 
had  forgotten  to  put  on  her  shoes.  Feeling 
her  feet  cooled  by  the  freshness  of  the  leaves, 
she  broke  off  a  branch  of  bamboo,  and  contin- 
ued her  walk,  leaning  with  one  hand  on  the 
staff,  and  with  the  other  on  Paul. 

They  walked  on  in  this  manner  slowly 
through  the  woods;  but  from  the  height  of  the 
trees,  and  the  thickness  of  their  foliage,  they 
soon  lost  sight  of  the  mountain  of  the  Three 
Breasts,  by  which  they  had  hitherto  directed 
their  course,  and  also  of  the  sun,  which  was  now 
setting.  At  length  they  wandered,  without 
perceiving  it,  from  the  beaten  path  in  which 
they  had  hitherto  walked,  and  found  themselves 
in  a  labyrinth  of  trees,  underwood,  and  rocks, 
whence  there  appeared  to  be  no  outlet.  Paul 
made  Virginia  sit  down,  while  he  ran  back- 
wards and  forwards,  half  frantic,  in  search  of 
a  path  which  might  lead  them  out  of  this  thick 
wood ;  but  he  fatigued  himself  to  no  purpose. 
He  then  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  lofty  tree, 
whence  he  hoped  at  least  to  perceive  the 
mountain  of  the  Three  Breasts :  but  he  could 

5     Paul  and  Virginia 


66  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

discern  nothing  around  him  but  the  tops  of 
trees,  some  of  which  were  gilded  with  the 
last  beams  of  the  setting  sun.  Already  the 
shadows  of  the  mountains  were  spreading  over 
the  forests  in  the  valleys.  The  wind  lulled, 
as  is  usually  the  case  at  sunset.  The  most 
profound  silence  reigned  in  those  awful  soli- 
tudes, which  was  only  interrupted  by  the  cry 
of  the  deer,  who  came  to  their  lairs  in  that 
unfrequented  spot.  Paul,  in  the  hope  that 
some  hunter  would  hear  his  voice,  called  out 
as  loud  as  he  was  able, — "Come,  come,  to  the 
help  of  Virginia."  But  the  echoes  of  the 
forest  alone  answered  his  call,  and  repeated 
again  and  again,  "Virginia — Virginia." 

Paul  at  length  descended  from  the  tree,  over- 
come with  fatigue  and  vexation.  He  looked 
around  in  order  to  make  some  arrangement  for 
passing  the  night  in  that  desert ;  but  he  could 
find  neither  fountain,  nor  palm-tree,  nor  even 
a  branch  of  dry  wood  fit  for  kindling  a  fire. 
He  was  then  impressed,  by  experience,  with 
the  sense  of  his  own  weakness,  and  began  to 
weep.  Virginia  said  to  him, — "Do  not  weep, 
my  dear  brother,  or  I  shall  be  overwhelmed 
with  grief.  I  am  the  cause  of  all  your  sorrow, 
and  of  all  that  our  mothers  are  suffering  at  this 
moment.  I  find  we  ought  to  do  nothing,  not 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  67 

even  good,  without  consulting  our  parents. 
Oh,  I  have  been  very  imprudent!" — and  she 
began  to  shed  tears.  "Let  us  pray  to  God, 
my  dear  brother,"  she  again  said,  "and  he  will 
hear  us."  They  had  scarcely  finished  their 
prayer,  when  they  heard  the  barking  of  a  dog. 
"It  must  be  the  dog  of  some  hunter,"  said 
Paul,  who  "comes  here  at  night,  to  lie  in  wait 
for  the  deer. "  Soon  after,  the  dog  began  bark- 
ing again  with  increased  violence.  "Surely," 
said  Virginia,  "it  is  Fidele,  our  own  dog:  yes, 
— now  I  know  his  bark.  Are  we  then  so  near 
home? — at  the  foot  of  our  own  mountain?"  A 
moment  after  Fidele  was  at  their  feet,  barking, 
howling,  moaning,  and  devouring  them  with 
caresses.  Before  they  could  recover  from  their 
surprise,  they  saw  Domingo  running  towards 
them.  At  the  sight  of  the  good  old  negro, 
who  wept  for  joy,  they  began  to  weep  too,  but 
had  not  the  power  to  utter  a  syllable.  When 
Domingo  had  recovered  himself  a  little,  "Oh, 

yiny  dear  children,"  said  he,  "how  miserable 
have  you  made  your  mothers !  How  astonished 

'  they  were  when  they  returned  with  me  from 
mass,  on  not  finding  you  at  home.  Mary,  who 
was  at  work  at  a  little  distance,  could  not  tell  us 
where  you  were  gone.  I  ran  backwards  and 
forwards  in  the  plantation,  not  knowing  where 


68  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

to  look  for  you.  At  last  I  took  some  of  your 
old  clothes,  and  showing  them  to  Fidele,  the 
poor  animal,  as  if  he  understood  me,  immedi- 
ately began  to  scent  your  path ;  and  conducted 
me,  wagging  his  tail  all  the  while,  to  the  Black 
River.  I  there  saw  a  planter,  who  told  me 
you  had  brought  back  a  Maroon  negro  woman, 
his  slave,  and  that  he  had  pardoned  her  at  your 
request.  But  what  a  pardon !  he  showed  her 
to  me  with  her  feet  chained  to  a  block  of  wood, 
and  an  iron  collar  with  three  hooks  fastened 
round  her  neck !  After  that,  Fidele,  still  on 
the  scent,  led  me  up  the  steep  bank  of  the 
Black  River,  where  he  again  stopped,  and 
barked  with  all  his  might.  This  was  on  the 
brink  of  a  spring,  near  which  was  a  fallen 
palm-tree,  and  a  fire,  still  smoking.  At  last 
he  led  me  to  this  very  spot.  We  are  now  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain  of  the  Three  Breasts, 
and  still  four  good  leagues  from  home.  Come 
eat,  and  recover  your  strength."  Domingo 
then  presented  them  with  a  cake,  some  fruit, 
and  a  large  gourd  full  of  beverage  composed  of 
wine,  water,  lemon- juice,  sugar,  and  nutmeg, 
which  their  mothers  had  prepared  to  invigorate 
and  refresh  them.  Virginia  sighed  at  the 
recollection  of  the  poor  slave,  and  at  the 
uneasiness  they  had  given  their  mothers.  She 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  69 

repeated  several  times.  "Oh,  how  difficult  it 
is  to  do  good!"  While  she  and  Paul  were  tak- 
ing refreshment,  it  being  already  night,  Do- 
mingo kindled  a  fire :  and  having  found  among 
the  rocks  a  particular  kind  of  twisted  wood, 
called  bois  de  ronde,  which  burns  when  quite 
green,  and  throws  out  a  great  blaze,  he  made 
a  torch  of  it,  which  he  lighted.  But  when 
they  prepared  to  continue  their  journey,  a  new 
difficulty  occurred ;  Paul  and  Virginia  could  no 
longer  walk,  their  feet  being  violently  swollen 
and  inflamed.  Domingo  knew  not  what  to  do ; 
whether  to  leave  them  and  go  in  search  of  help, 
or  remain  and  pass  the  night  with  them  on  that 
spot.  "There  was  a  time,"  said  he,  "when  I 
could  carry  you  both  together  in  my  arms! 
But  now  you  are  grown  big,  and  I  am  grown 
old. "  While  he  was  in  this  perplexity,  a  troop 
of  Maroon  negroes  appeared  at  a  short  distance 
from  them.  The  chief  of  the  band,  approach- 
ing Paul  and  Virginia,  said  to  them, — "Good 
little  white  people,  do  not  be  afraid.  We  saw 
you  pass  this  morning,  with  a  negro  woman  of 
the  Black  River.  You  went  to  ask  pardon  for 
her  of  her  wicked  master;  and  we,  in  return 
for  this,  will  carry  you  home  upon  our  shoul- 
ders."  He  then  made  a  sign,  and  four  of  the 
strongest  negroes  immediately  formed  a  sort  of 


70  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

litter  with  the  branches  of  trees  and  lianas, 
and  having  seated  Paul  and  Virginia  on  it, 
carried  them  upon  their  shoulders.  Domingo 
marched  in  front  with  his  lighted  torch,  and 
they  proceeded  amidst  the  rejoicings  of  the 
whole  troop,  who  overwhelmed  them  with  their 
benedictions.  Virginia,  affected  by  this  scene, 
said  to  Paul,  with  emotion, — "Oh,  my  dear 
brother !  God  never  leaves  a  good  action  unre- 
warded. ' ' 

It  was  midnight  when  they  arrived  at  the  foot 
of  their  mountain,  on  the  ridges  of  which  sev- 
eral fires  were  lighted.  As  soon  as  they  began 
to  ascend,  they  heard  voices  exclaiming — "Is  it 
you,  my  children?"  They  answered  immedi- 
ately, and  the  negroes  also, — "Yes,  yes,  it  is." 
A  moment  after  they  could  distinguish  their 
mothers  and  Mary  coming  towards  them  with 
lighted  sticks  in  their  hands.  "Unhappy  chil- 
dren," cried  Madame  de  la  Tour,  "where  have 
you  been?  what  agonies  you  have  made  us 
suffer!" — "We  have  been,"  said  Virginia,  "to 
the  Black  River,  where  we  went  to  ask  pardon 
for  a  poor  Maroon  slave,  to  whom  I  gave  our 
breakfast  this  morning,  because  she  seemed 
dying  of  hunger;  and  these  Maroon  negroes 
have  brought  us  home. "  Madame  de  la  Tour 
embraced  her  daughter,  without  being  able  to 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  W 

speak;  and  Virginia,  who  felt  her  face  wet 
with  her  mother's  tears,  exclaimed,  "Now  I 
am  repaid  for  all  the  hardships  I  have  suffered. ' ' 
Margaret,  in  a  transport  of  delight,  pressed 
Paul  in  her  arms,  exclaiming,  "And  you  also, 
my  dear  child,  you  have  done  a  good  action. " 
When  they  reached  the  cottages  with  their 
children  they  entertained  all  the  negroes  with 
a  plentiful  repast,  after  which  the  latter  re- 
turned to  the  woods  praying  Heaven  to  shower 
down  every  description  of  blessing  on  those 
good  white  people. 

Every  day  was  to  these  families  a  day  of  hap- 
piness and  tranquillity.  Neither  ambition  nor 
envy  disturbed  their  repose.  They  did  not 
seek  to  obtain  a  useless  reputation  out  of  doors, 
which  may  be  procured  by  artifice  and  lost  by 
calumny;  but  were  contented  to  be  the  sole 
witnesses  and  judges  of  their  own  actions.  In 
this  island,  where,  as  is  the  case  in  most  colo- 
nies, scandal  forms  the  principal  topic  of  con- 
versation, their  virtues,  and  even  their  names, 
were  unknown.  The  passer-by  on  the  road  to 
the  Shaddock  Grove,  indeed,  would  sometimes 
ask  the  inhabitants  of  the  plain,  who  lived  in 
the  cottages  up  there?  and  was  always  told, 
even  by  those  who  did  not  know  them,  "They 
are  good  people."  The  modest  violet  thus, 


72  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

concealed  in  thorny  places,  sheds  all  unseen  its 
delightful  fragrance  around. 

Slander,  which,  under  an  appearance  of  jus- 
tice, naturally  inclines  the  heart  to  falsehood 
or  to  hatred,  was  entirely  banished  from  their 
conversation ;  for  it  is  impossible  not  to  hate 
men  if  we  believe  them  to  be  wicked,  or  to  live 
with  the  wicked  without  concealing  that  hatred 
under  a  false  pretence  of  good  feeling.  Slander 
thus  puts  us  all  ill  at  ease  with  others  and  with 
ourselves.  In  this  little  circle,  therefore,  the 
conduct  of  individuals  was  not  discussed,  but 
the  best  manner  of  doing  good  to  all;  and 
although  they  had  but  little  in  their  power, 
their  unceasing  good-will  and  kindness  of  heart 
made  them  constantly  ready  to  do  what  they 
could  for  others.  Solitude,  far  from  having 
blunted  these  benevolent  feelings,  had  ren- 
dered their  dispositions  even  more  kindly. 
Although  the  petty  scandals  of  the  day  fur- 
nished no  subject  of  conversation  to  them, 
yet  their  contemplation  of  nature  filled  their 
minds  with  enthusiastic  delight.  They  adored 
the  bounty  of  that  Providence,  which,  by  their 
instrumentality,  had  spread  abundance  and 
beauty  about  these  barren  rocks,  and  had  en- 
abled them  to  enjoy  those  pure  and  simple 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  73 

pleasures,  which  are  ever  grateful  and  ever 
new. 

Paul,  at  twelve  years  of  age,  was  stronger 
and  more  intelligent  than  most  European 
youths  are  at  fifteen;  and  the  plantations, 
which  Domingo  merely  cultivated,  were  embell- 
ished by  him.  He  would  go  with  the  old  negro 
into  the  neighboring  woods,  where  he  would 
root  up  the  young  plants  of  lemon,  orange,  and 
tamarind  trees,  the  round  heads  of  which  are 
so  fresh  and  green,  together  with  date-palm 
trees,  which  produce  fruit  filled  with  a  sweet 
cream,  possessing  the  fine  perfume  of  the 
orange  flower.  These  trees,  which  had  already 
attained  to  a  considerable  size,  he  planted 
round  their  little  enclosure.  He  had  also  sown 
the  seed  of  many  trees  which  the  second  year 
bear  flowers  or  fruit ;  such  as  the  agathis,  en- 
circled with  long  clusters  of  white  flowers 
which  hang  from  it  like  the  crystal  pendants 
of  a  chandelier;  the  Persian  lilac,  which  lifts 
high  in  air  its  gray  flax-colored  branches ;  the 
pawpaw  tree,  the  branchless  trunk  of  which 
forms  a  column  studded  with  green  melons, 
surmounted  by  a  capital  of  broad  leaves  similar 
to  those  of  the  fig-tree. 

The  seeds  and  kernels  of  the  gum  tree,  ter- 
minalia,  mango,  alligator  pear,  the  guava,  the 


74  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

bread-fruit  tree,  and  the  narrow-leaved  rose- 
apple,  were  also  planted  by  him  with  profu- 
sion ;  and  the  greater  number  of  these  trees 
already  afforded  the  young  cultivator  both 
shade  and  fruit.  His  industrious  hands  diffused 
the  riches  of  nature  over  even  the  most  barren 
parts  of  the  plantation.  Several  species  of 
aloes,  the  Indian  fig,  adorned  with  yellow  flow- 
ers spotted  with  red,  and  the  thorny  torch 
thistle,  grew  upon  the  dark  summits  of  the 
rocks,  and  seemed  to  aim  at  reaching  the  long 
lianas,  which,  laden  with  blue  or  scarlet  flow- 
ers, hung  scattered  over  the  steepest  parts  of 
the  mountain. 

I  loved  to  trace  the  ingenuity  he  had  exer- 
cised in  the  arrangement  of  these  trees.  He 
had  so  disposed  them  that  the  whole  could  be 
seen  at  a  single  glance.  In  the  middle  of  the 
hollow  he  had  planted  shrubs  of  the  lowest 
growth ;  behind  grew  the  more  lofty  sorts ; 
then  trees  of  the  ordinary  height ;  and  beyond 
and  above  all,  the  venerable  and  lofty  groves 
which  bordered  the  circumference.  Thus  this 
extensive  inclosure  appeared,  from  its  cen- 
ter, like  a  verdant  amphitheater,  decorated 
with  fruits  and  flowers,  containing  a  variety  of 
vegetables,  some  strips  of  meadow  land,  and 
fields  of  rice  and  corn.  But,  in  arranging 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  75 

these  vegetable  productions  to  his  own  taste, 
he  wandered  not  too  far  from  the  designs  of 
Nature.  Guided  by  her  suggestions,  he  had 
thrown  upon  the  elevated  spots  such  seeds  as 
the  winds  would  scatter  about,  and  near  the 
borders  of  the  springs  those  which  float  upon 
the  water.  Every  plant  thus  grew  in  its  proper 
soil,  and  every  spot  seemed  decorated  by 
Nature's  own  hand.  The  st^ej^nT^jwiiicJi. .fell 
Ehe  rocks  formed  in  some 
parts  of  the  valley  sparkling  cascades,  and  in 
others  were  spread  into  broad  mirrors,  in 
which  were  reflected,  set  in  verdure,  the  flower- 
ing trees,  the  overhanging  rocks,  and  the  azure 
heavens. 

Notwithstanding  the  great  irregularity  of  the 
ground,  these  plantations  were,  for  the  most 
part,  easy  of  access.  We  had,  indeed,  all  given 
him  our  advice  and  assistance,  in  order  to  ac- 
complish this  end.  He  had  conducted  one 
path  entirely  round  the  valley  and  various 
branches  from  it  led  from  the  circumference 
to  the  center.  He  had  drawn  some  advantage 
from  the  most  rugged  spots,  and  had  blended, 
in  harmonious  union,  level  walks  with  the  in- 
equalities of  the  soil,  and  trees  which  grow 
wild  with  the  cultivated  varieties.  With  that 
immense  quantity  of  large  pebbles  which  now 


"76  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

block  up  these  paths,  and  which  are  scattered 
over  most  of  the  ground  of  this  island,  he 
formed  pyramidal  heaps  here  and  there,  at  the 
base  of  which  he  laid  mold,  and  planted  rose- 
bushes, the  Barbadoes  flower-fence,  and  other 
shrubs  which  love  to  climb  the  rocks.  In  a 
short  time  the  dark  and  shapeless  heaps  of 
stones  he  had  constructed  were  covered  with 
verdure,  or  with  the  glowing  tints  of  the  most 
beautiful  flowers.  Hollow  recesses  on  the  bor- 
ders of  the  streams  shaded  by  the  overhanging 
boughs  of  aged  trees,  formed  rural  grottoes, 
impervious  to  the  rays  of  the  sun,  in  which 
you  might  enjoy  a  refreshing  coolness  during 
the  mid-day  heats.  One  path  led  to  a  clump 
of  forest  trees,  in  the  center  of  which,  sheltered 
from  the  wind,  you  found  a  fruit-tree,  laden 
with  produce.  Here  was  a  corn-field ;  there, 
an  orchard ;  from  one  avenue  you  had  a  view 
of  the  cottages ;  from  another,  of  the  inaccess- 
ible summit  of  the  mountain.  Beneath  one 
tufted  bower  of  gum-trees,  interwoven  with 
lianas,  no  object  whatever  could  be  perceived: 
while  the  point  of  the  adjoining  rock,  jutting 
out  from  the  mountain,  commanded  a  view  of 
the  whole  inclosure,  and  of  the  distant  ocean, 
where,  occasionally,  we  could  discern  the  dis- 
tant sail,  arriving  from  Europe,  or  bound 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  77 

thither.  On  this  rock  the  two  families  fre- 
quently met  in  the  evening,  and  enjoyed  in 
silence  the  freshness  of  the  flowers,  the  gentle 
murmurs  of  the  fountain,  and  the  last  blended 
harmonies  of  light  and  shade. 

Nothing  could  be  more  charming  than  the 
names  which  were  bestowed  upon  some  of  the 
delightful  retreats  of  the  labyrinth.  The  rock 
of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  whence  they 
could  discern  my  approach  at  a  considerable 
distance,  was  called  the  Discovery  of  Friend- 
ship. Paul  and  Virginia  had  amused  them- 
selves by  planting  a  bamboo  on  that  spot ;  and 
whenever  they  saw  me  coming,  they  hoisted  a 
little  white  handkerchief,  by  way  of  signal  at 
my  approach,  as  they  had  seen  a  flag  hoisted 
on  the  neighboring  mountain  on  the  sight  of  a 
vessel  at  sea.  The  idea  struck  me  of  engrav- 
ing an  inscription  on  the  stalk  of  this  reed ;  for 
I  never,  in  the  course  of  my  travels,  experi- 
enced anything  like  the  pleasure  in  seeing  a 

^statue  or  other  monument  of  ancient  art,  as  in 
reading  a  well-written  inscription.  It  seems 

"  to  me  as  if  a  human  voice  issued  from  the 
stone,  and,  making  itself  heard  after  the  lapse 
of  ages,  addressed  man  in  the  midst  of  a  desert, 
to  tell  him  that  he  is  not  alone,  and  that  other 
men,  on  that  very  spot,  had  felt,  and  thought, 


78  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

and  suffered  like  himself.  If  the  inscription 
belongs  to  an  ancient  nation,  which  no  longer 
exists,  it  leads  the  soul  through  infinite  space, 
and  strengthens  the  consciousness  of  its  immor- 
tality, by  demonstrating  that  a  thought  has 
survived  the  ruins  of  an  empire. 

I  inscribed  then,  on  the  little  staff  of  Paul 
and  Virginia's  flag  the  following  lines  of 

Horace : — 

Fratres  Helenas,  lucida  sidera, 
Ventorumque  re  gat  pater, 
Obstrictis,  aliis,  praeter  lapaiga. 
"May  the  brothers  of  Helen,  bright  stars  like  you, 
and  the  Father  of  the  winds,  guide  you ;  and  may  you 
feel  only  the  breath  of  the  zephyr." 

There  was  a  gum-tree,  under  the  shadow  of 
which  Paul  was  accustomed  to  sit,  to  contem- 
plate the  sea  when  agitated  by  storms.  On 
the  bark  of  this  tree,  I  engraved  the  following 
lines  from  Virgil : — 

Fortunatus  et  ille  deos  qui  novit  agrestes ! 

"Happy  art  thou,  my  son,  in  knowing  only  the  pas- 
toral divinities." 

And  over  the  door  of  Madame  de  la  Tour's  cot- 
£age,  where  the  families  so  frequently  met,  I 
placed  this  line : — 

At  secura  quies,  et  nescia  fallere  vita. 
"Here  dwells  a  calm  conscience,  and  a  life  that  knows 
not  deceit" 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  79 

But  Virginia  did  not  approve  of  my  Latin ; 
she  said,  that  what  I  had  placed  at  the  foot  of 
her  flag-staff  was  too  long  and  too  learned. 
"I  should  have  liked  better,"  added  she,  "to 
have  seen  inscribed,  Ever  agitated,  yet  con- 
stant. "  "Such  a  motto,"  I  answered,  "would 
have  been  still  more  applicable  to  virtue." 
My  reflection  made  her  blush. 

The  delicacy  of  sentiment  of  these  happy 
families  was  manifested  in  everything  around 
them.  They  gave  the  tenderest  names  to  ob- 
jects in  appearance  the  most  indifferent.  A 
border  of  orange,  plantain,  and  rose-apple 
trees,  planted  round  a  green  sward  where  Vir- 
ginia and  Paul  sometimes  danced,  received  the 
name  of  Concord.  An  old  tree,  beneath  the 
shade  of  which  Madame  de  la  Tour  and  Mar- 
garet used  to  recount  their  misfortunes,  was 
called  the  Burial-place  of  Tears.  They  be- 
stowed the  names  of  Brittany  and  Normandy 
on  two  little  plots  of  ground,  where  they  had 
sown  corn,  strawberries,  and  peas.  Domingo 
and  Mary,  wishing,  in  imitation  of  their  mis- 
tresses, to  recall  to  mind  Angola  and  Foulle- 
pointe,  the  places  of  their  birth  in  Africa,  gave 
those  names  to  the  little  fields  where  the  grass 
was  sown  with  which  they  wove  their  baskets, 
and  where  they  had  planted  a  calabash-tree. 


80  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Thus  by  cultivating  the  productions  of  their 
respective  climates,  these  exiled  families  cher- 
ished the  dear  illusions  which  bind  us  to  our 
native  country,  and  softened  their  regrets  in  a 
foreign  land.  Alas!  I  have  seen  these  trees, 
these  fountains,  these  heap?,  of  stones,  which 
are  now  so  completely  overthrown, —  which 
now,  like  the  desolated  plains  of  Greece,  pre- 
sent nothing  but  masses  of  ruin  and  affecting 
remembrances,  all  but  called  into  life  by  the 
many  charming  appellations  thus  bestowed 
upon  them ! 

But  perhaps  the  most  delightful  spot  of  this 
inclosure  was  that  called  Virginia's  resting- 
place.  At  the  foot  of  the  rock  which  bore  the 
name  of  the  Discovery  of  Friendship,  is  a  small 
crevice,  whence  issues  a  fountain,  forming, 
near  its  source,  a  little  spot  of  marshy  soil  in 
the  middle  of  a  field  of  rich  grass.  At  the  time 
of  Paul's  birth  I  had  made  Margaret  a  present 
of  an  Indian  cocoa  which  had  been  given 
me,  and  which  she  planted  on  the  border  of 
this  fenny  ground,  in  order  that  the  tree  might 
one  day  serve  to  mark  the  epoch  of  her  son's 
birth.  Madame  de  la  Tour  planted  another 
cocoa  with  the  same  view,  at  the  birth  of  Vir- 
ginia. These  nuts  produced  two  cocoa-trees, 
which  formed  the  only  records  of  the  two  fam- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  81 

ilies;  one  was  called  Paul's  tree,  the  other, 
Virginia's.  Their  growth  was  in  the  same 
proportion  as  that  of  the  two  young  persons, 
not  exactly  equal  but  they  rose,  at  the  end  of 
twelve  years,  above  the  roofs  of  the  cottages. 
Already  their  tender  stalks  were  interwoven, 
and  clusters  of  young  cocoas  hung  from  them 
over  the  basin  of  the  fountain.  With  the 
exception  of  these  two  trees,  this  nook  of  the 
rock  was  left  as  it  had  been  decorated  by 
nature.  On  its  embrowned  and  moist  sides 
broad  plants  of  maiden-hair  glistened  with  their 
green  and  dark  stars ;  and  tufts  of  wave-leaved 
hart's  tongue,  suspended  like  long  ribbons  of 
purpled  green,  floated  on  the  wind.  Near 
this  grew  a  chain  of  the  Madagascar  periwinkle, 
the  flowers  of  which  resemble  the  red  gili- 
flower;  and  the  long-podded  capsicum,  the 
seed-vessels  of  which  are  of  the  color  of  blood, 
and  more  resplendent  than  coral.  Near  them, 
the  herb  balm,  with  its  heart-shaped  leaves, 
and  the  sweet  basil,  which  has  the  odor  of  the 
clove,  exhaled  the  most  delicious  perfumes. 
From  the  precipitous  side  of  the  mountain 
hung  the  graceful  lianas,  like  floating  draper- 
ies, forming  magnificent  canopies  of  vendure 
on  the  face  of  the  rocks.  The  sea-birds,  allured 
by  the  stillness  of  these  retreats,  resorted  here 

0    Paul  and  Virginia 


82  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

to  pass  the  night.  At  the  hour  of  sunset  we 
could  perceive  the  curlew  and  the  stint  skim- 
ming along  the  sea-shore;  the  frigate-bird 
poised  high  in  air;  and  the  white  bird  of  the 
tropic,  which  abandons,  with  the  star  of  day, 
the  solitudes  of  the  Indian  ocean.  Virginia 
took  pleasure  in  resting  herself  upon  the  border 
of  this  fountain,  decorated  with  wild  and 
sublime  magnificence.  She  often  went  thither 
to  wash  the  linen  of  the  family  beneath  the 
shade  of  the  two  cocoa-trees,  and  thither  too 
she  sometimes  led  her  goats  to  graze.  While 
she  was  making  cheeses  of  their  milk,  she  loved 
to  see  them  browse  on  the  maiden-hair  fern 
which  clothed  the  steep  sides  of  the  rock,  and 
hung  suspended  by  one  of  its  cornices,  as  on  a 
pedestal.  Paul,  observing  that  Virginia  was 
fond  of  this  spot,  brought  thither,  from  the 
neighboring  forest,  a  great  variety  of  birds' 
nests.  The  old  birds  following  their  young, 
soon  established  themselves  in  this  new  colony. 
Virginia,  at  stated  times,  distributed  amongst 
them  grains  of  rice,  millet,  and  maize.  As 
soon  as  she  appeared,  the  whistling  blackbird, 
the  amadavid  bird,  whose  note  is  so  soft,  the 
cardinal,  with  its  flame-colored  plumage,  for- 
sook their  bushes ;  the  paroquet,  green  as  an 
emerald,  descended  from  the  neighboring  fan- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  83 

palms,  the  partridge  ran  along  the  grass;  all 
advanced  promiscuously  towards  her,  like  a 
brood  of  chickens :  and  she  and  Paul  found  an 
exhaustless  source  of  amusement  in  observing 
their  sports,  their  repasts,  and  their  loves, 
si  Amiable  children !  thus  passed  your  earlier 
Mays  in  innocence,  and  in  obeying  the  impulses 
Ijof  kindness.  How  many  times,  on  this  very 
'  spot,  have  your  mothers,  pressing  you  in  their 
arms,  blessed  Heaven  for  the  consolation  your 
unfolding  virtues  prepared  for  their  declining 
years,  while  they  at  the  same  time  enjoyed  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  you  begin  life  under  the 
happiest  auspices!  How  many  times,  beneath 
the  shade  of  those  rocks,  have  I  partaken  with 
them  of  your  rural  repasts,  which  never  cost 
any  anmial  its  life !  Gourds  full  of  milk,  fresh 
eggs,  cakes  of  rice  served  up  on  plantain  leaves, 
with  baskets  of  mangoes,  oranges,  dates, 
pomegranates,  pine-apples,  furnished  a  whole- 
some repast,  the  most  agreeable  to  the  eye,  as 
well  as  delicious  to  the  taste,  that  can  possibly 
be  imagined. 

Like  the  repast,  the  conversation  was  mild, 
and  free  from  everything  having  a  tendency  to 
do  harm.  Paul  often  talked  of  the  labors  of 
the  day  and  of  the  morrow.  He  was  contin- 
ually planning  something  for  the  accommoda- 


84  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

tion  of  their  little  society.  Here  he  discovered 
that  the  paths  were  rugged;  there,  that  the 
seats  were  uncomfortable,  sometimes  the 
young  arbors  did  not  afford  sufficient  shade,  and 
Virginia  might  be  better  pleased  elsewhere. 

During  the  rainy  season  the  two  families  met 
together  in  the  cottage,  and  employed  them- 
selves in  weaving  mats  of  grass,  and  baskets  of 
bamboo.  Rakes,  spades,  and  hatchets  were 
ranged  along  the  walls  in  the  most  perfect 
order;  and  near  these  instruments  of  agricul- 
ture were  heaped  its  products, — bags  of  rice, 
sheaves  of  corn,  and  baskets  of  plantains. 
Some  degree  of  luxury  usually  accompanies 
abundance;  and  Virginia  was  taught  by  her 
mother  and  Margaret  to  prepare  sherbet  and 
cordials  from  the  juice  of  the  sugar-cane,  the 
lemon  and  the  citron. 

When  night  came,  they  all  supped  together 
by  the  light  of  a  lamp ;  after  which  Madame  de 
la  Tour  or  Margaret  related  some  story  of  trav- 
elers benighted  in  those  woods  of  Europe  that 
are  still  infested  by  banditti ;  or  told  a  dismal 
tale  of  some  ship-wrecked  vessel,  thrown  by 
the  tempest  upon  the  rocks  of  a  desert  island. 
To  these  recitals  the  children  listened  with 
eager  attention,  and  earnestly  hoped  that 
Heaven  would  one  day  grant  them  the  joy  of 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  85 

performing  the  rites  of  hospitality  towards 
such  unfortunate  persons  When  the  time  for 
repose  arrived,  the  two  families  separated  and 
retired  for  the  night,  eager  to  meet  again  the 
following  morning.  Sometimes  they  were 
lulled  to  repose  by  the  beating  of  the  rains, 
which  fell  in  torrents  upon  the  roofs  of  their 
cottages,  and  sometimes  by  the  hollow  winds, 
which  brought  to  their  ear  the  distant  roar  of 
the  waves  breaking  upon  the  shore.  They 
blessed  God  for  their  own  safety,  the  feeling 
of  which  was  brought  home  more  forcibly  to 
their  minds  by  the  sound  of  remote  danger. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  occasionally  read  aloud 
some  affecting  history  of  the  Old  or  New  Testa- 
ment. Her  auditors  reasoned  but  little  upon 
these  sacred  volumes,  for  their  theology  cen- 
tered in  a  feeling  of  devotion  towards  the 
Supreme  Being,  like  that  of  nature ;  and  their 
morality  was  an  active  principle,  like  that  of 
the  Gospel.  These  families  had  no  particular 

"*  days  devoted  to  pleasure,  and  others  to  sadness. 

. .  Every  day  was  to  them  a  holiday,  and  all 
that  surrounded  them  one  holy  temple,  in  which 
they  ever  adored  the  Infinite  Intelligence,  the 
Almighty  God,  the  friend  of  human  kind.  A 
feeling  of  confidence  in  his  supreme  power 
filled  their  minds  with  consolation  for  the  past, 


86  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

with  fortitude  under  present  trials,  and  with 
hope  in  the  future.  Compelled  by  misfortune 
to  return  almost  to  a  state  of  nature,  these 
excellent  women  had  thus  developed  in  their 
own  and  their  children's  bosoms  the  feelings 
most  natural  to  the  human  mind,  and  its  best 
support  under  affliction. 

But,  as  clouds  sometimes  arise,  and  cast  a 
gloom  over  the  best  regulated  tempers,  so 
whenever  any  member  of  this  little  society 
appeared  to  be  laboring  under  dejection,  the 
rest  assembled  around,  and  endeavored  to  ban- 
ish her  painful  thoughts  by  amusing  the  mind 
rather  than  by  grave  arguments  against  them. 
Each  performed  this  kind  office  in  their  own 
appropriate  manner :  Margaret,  by  her  gayety ; 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  by  the  gentle  consolations 
of  religion ;  Virginia,  by  her  tender  caresses ; 
Paul,  by  his  frank  and  engaging  cordiality. 
Even  Mary  and  Domingo  hastened  to  offer 
their  succor,  and  to  weep  with  those  that  wept. 
Thus  do  weak  plants  interweave  themselves 
with  each  other,  in  order  to  withstand  the  fury 
of  the  tempest. 

During  the  fine  season,  they  went  every  Sun- 
day to  the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  the 
steeple  of  which  you  see  yonder  upon  the  plain. 
Many  wealthy  members  of  the  congregation, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  $7 

who  came  to  church  in  palanquins,  sought  the 
acquaintance  of  these  united  families,  and 
invited  them  to  parties  of  pleasure.  But  they 
always  repelled  these  overtures  with  respectful 
politeness,  as  they  were  persuaded  that  the  rich 
and  powerful  seek  the  society  of  persons  in  an 
inferior  station  only  for  the  sake  of  surround- 
ing themselves  with  flatterers,  and  that  every 
flatterer  must  applaud  alike  all  the  actions  of 
his  patron,  whether  good  or  bad.  On  the  other 
hand,  they  avoided,  with  equal  care,  too  inti- 
mate an  acquaintance  with  the  lower  class,  who 
are  ordinarily  jealous,  calumniating,  and  gross. 
They  thus  acquired,  with  some,  the  character 
of  being  timid,  and  with  others,  of  pride :  but 
their  reserve  was  accompanied  with  so  much 
obliging  politeness,  above  all  towards  the 
unfortunate  and  the  unhappy,  that  they 
insensibly  acquired  the  respect  of  the  rich  and 
the  confidence  of  the  poor. 

After  service,  some  kind  office  was  often 
^required  at  their  hands  by  their  poor  neigh- 
bors. Sometimes  a  person  troubled  in  mind 
sought  their  advice ;  sometimes  a  child  begged 
them  to  visit  its  sick  mother,  in  one  of  the  ad- 
joining hamlets.  They  always  took  with  them 
a  few  remedies  for  the  ordinary  diseases  of  the 
country,  which  they  administered  in  that  sooth- 


88  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

ing  manner  which  stamps  a  value  upon  the 
smallest  favors.  Above  all,  they  met  with 
singular  success  in  administering  to  the  dis- 
orders of  the  mind,  so  intolerable  in  solitude, 
and  under  the  infirmities  of  a  weakened  frame. 
Madame  de  la  Tour  spoke  with  such  sublime 
confidence  of  the  Divinity,  that  the  sick,  while 
listening  to  her,  almost  believed  him  present. 
Virginia  often  returned  home  with  her  eyes 
full  of  tears,  and  her  heart  overflowing  with 
delight,  at  having  had  an  opportunity  of  doing 
good ;  for  to  her  generally  was  confided  the 
task  of  preparing  and  administering  the  medi- 
cines,— a  task  which  she  fulfilled  with  angelic 
sweetness.  After  these  visits  of  charity,  they 
sometimes  extended  their  walk  by  the  Sloping 
Mountain,  till  they  reached  my  dwelling, 
where  I  used  to  prepare  dinner  for  them  on 
the  banks  of  the  little  rivulet  which  glides  near 
my  cottage.  I  procured  for  these  occasions  a 
few  bottles  of  old  wine,  in  order  to  heighten 
the  relish  of  our  Oriental  repast  by  the  more 
genial  productions  of  Europe.  At  other  times 
we  met  on  the  seashore  at  the  mouth  of  some 
little  river,  or  rather  mere  brook.  We  brought 
from  home  the  provisions  furnished  us  by  our 
gardens,  to  which  we  added  those  supplied  us 
by  the  sea  in  abundant  variety.  We  caught 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  89 

on  these  shores  the  mullet,  the  roach,  and  the 
sea-urchin,  lobsters,  shrimps,  crabs,  oysters, 
and  all  other  kinds  of  shell-fish.  In  this  way, 
we  often  enjoyed  the  most  tranquil  pleasures  in 
situations  the  most  terrific.  Sometimes,  seated 
upon  a  rock,  under  the  shade  of  the  velvet  sun- 
flower-tree, we  saw  the  enormous  waves  of  the 
Indian  Ocean  break  beneath  our  feet  with  a 
tremendous  noise.  Paul,  who  could  swim  like 
a  fish,  would  advance  on  the  reefs  to  meet  the 
coming  billows;  then,  at  their  near  approach, 
would  run  back  to  the  beach,  closely  pursued 
by  the  foaming  breakers,  which  threw  them- 
selves, with  a  roaring  noise,  far  on  the  sands. 
But  Virginia,  at  this  sight,  uttered  piercing 
cries,  and  said  that  such  sports  frightened  her 
too  much. 

Other  amusements  were  not  wanting  on 
these  festive  occasions.  Our  repasts  were  gen- 
erally followed  by  the  songs  and  dances  of  the 
two  young  people.  Virginia  sang  the  happi- 

r-  ness  of  pastoral  life,  and  the  misery  of  those 
who  were  impelled  by  avarice  to  cross  the  rag- 

'  ing  ocean,  rather  than  cultivate  the  earth, 
and  enjoy  its  bounties  in  peace.  Sometimes 
she  performed  a  pantomime  with  Paul,  after 
the  manner  of  the  negroes.  The  first  language 
of  man  is  pantomime :  it  is  known  to  all  na- 


90  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 

tions,  and  is  so  natural  and  expressive,  that 
the  children  of  the  European  inhabitants  catch 
it  with  facility  from  the  negroes.  Virginia, 
recalling,  from  among  the  histories  which  her 
mother  had  read  to  her,  those  which  had 
affected  her  most,  represented  the  principal 
events  in  them  with  beautiful  simplicity. 
Sometimes  at  the  sound  of  Domingo's  tantam 
she  appeared  upon  the  green  sward,  bearing  a 
pitcher  upon  her  head,  and  advanced  with  a 
timid  step  towards  the  source  of  a  neighbor- 
r  ing  fountain  to  draw  water.  Domingo  and 
Mary,  personating  the  shepherds  of  Midian, 
forbade  her  to  approach,  and  repulsed  her 
sternly.  Upon  this  Paul  flew  to  her  succor, 
beat  away  the  shepherds,  filled  Virginia's 
pitcher,  and  placing  it  upon  her  head,  bound 
her  brows  at  the  same  time  with  a  wreath  of 
the  red  flowers  of  the  Madagascar  periwinkle, 
which  served  to  heighten  the  delicacy  of  her 
complexion.  Then  joining  in  their  sports,  I 
took  upon  myself  the  part  of  Raguel,  and  be- 
stowed upon  Paul,  my  daughter  Zephora  in 
marriage. 

Another  time  Virginia  would  represent  the 
unhappy  Ruth,  returning  poor  and  widowed 
with  her  mother-in-law,  who,  after  so  pro- 
longed an  absence,  found  herself  as  unknown 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  91 

as  in  a  foreign  land.  Domingo  and  Mary  per- 
sonated the  reapers.  The  supposed  daughter 
of  Naomi  followed  their  steps,  gleaming  here 
and  there  a  few  ears  of  corn.  When  inter- 
rogated by  Paul, — a  part  which  he  performed 
with  the  gravity  of  a  patriarch, — she  answered 
his  questions  with  a  faltering  voice.  He  then, 
touched  with  compassion,  granted  an  asylum 
to  innocence,  and  hospitality  to  misfortune. 
He  filled  her  lap  with  plenty ;  and,  leading  her 
towards  us  as  before  the  elders  of  the  city, 
declared  his  purpose  to  take  her  in  marriage. 
At  this  scene,  Madame  de  la  Tour,  recalling 
the  desolate  situation  in  which  she  had  been 
left  by  her  relations,  her  widowhood,  and  the 
kind  reception  she  had  met  with  from  Mar- 
garet, succeeded  now  by  the  soothing  hope  of 
a  happy  union  between  their  children,  could 
not  forbear  weeping ;  and  these  mixed  recollec- 
tions of  good  and  evil  caused  us  all  to  unite 
with  her  in  shedding  tears  of  sorrow  and  of 
joy. 

These  dramas  were  performed  with  such  an 
air  of  reality  that  you  might  have  fancied  your- 
self transported  to  the  plains  of  Syria  or  of 
Palestine.  We  were  not  unfurnished  with 
decorations,  lights,  or  an  orchestra,  suitable 
to  the  representation.  The  scene  was  gener- 


92  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

ally  placed  in  an  open  space  of  the  forest,  the 
diverging  paths  from  which  formed  around  us 
numerous  arcades  of  foliage,  under  which  we 
were  sheltered  from  the  heat  all  the  middle  of 
the  day;  but  when  the  sun  descended  towards 
the  horizon,  its  rays,  broken  by  the  trunks  of 
the  trees,  darted  amongst  the  shadows  of  the 
forest  in  long  lines  of  light,  producing  the  most 
magnificent  effect.  Sometimes  its  broad  disk 
appeared  at  the  end  of  an  avenue,  lighting  it 
up  with  insufferable  brightness.  The  foliage 
of  the  trees,  illuminated  from  beneath  by  its 
saffron  beams,  glowed  with  the  luster  of  the 
topaz  and  the  emerald.  Their  brown  and 
mossy  trunks  appeared  transformed  into 
columns  of  antique  bronze;  and  the  birds, 
which  had  retired  in  silence  to  their  leafy 
shades  to  pass  the  night,  surprised  to  see  the 
radiance  of  the  second  morning,  hailed  the  star 
of  day  all  together  with  innumerable  carols. 

Night  often  overtook  us  during  these  rural 
entertainments ;  but  the  purity  of  the  air  and  the 
warmth  of  the  climate,  admitted  of  our  sleep- 
ing in  the  woods,  without  incurring  any  danger 
by  exposure  to  the  weather,  and  no  less  secure 
from  the  molestation  of  robbers.  On  our  re- 
turn the  following  day  to  our  respective  habita- 
tions, we  found  them  in  exactly  the  same  state 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  93 

in  which  they  had  been  left.  In  this  island, 
then  unsophisticated  by  the  pursuits  of  com- 
merce, such  were  the  honesty  and  primitive 
manners  of  the  population,  that  the  doors  of 
many  houses  were  without  a  key,  and  even  a 
lock'itself  was  an  object  of  curiosity  to  not  a 
few  of  the  native  inhabitants. 

There  were,  however,  some  days  in  the  years 
celebrated  by  Paul  and  Virginia  in  a  more 
peculiar  manner ;  these  were  the  birthdays  of 
their  mothers.  Virginia  never  failed  the  day 
before  to  prepare  some  wheaten  cakes,  which 
she  distributed  among  a  few  poor  white  fam- 
ilies, born  in  the  island,  who  had  never  eaten 
European  bread.  These  unfortunate  people, 
uncared  for  by  the  blacks,  were  reduced  to  live 
on  tapioca  in  the  woods;  and  as  they  had 
neither  the  insensibility  which  is  the  result  of 
slavery,  nor  the  fortitude  which  spring  from  a 
liberal  education,  to  enable  them  to  support 
their  poverty,  their  situation  was  deplorable 
These  cakes  were  all  that  Virginia  had  it  in 
her  power  to  give  away,  but  she  conferred  the 
gift  in  so  delicate  a  manner  as  to  add  tenfold 
to  its  value.  In  the  first  place,  Paul  was  com- 
missioned to  take  the  cakes  himself  to  these 
families,  and  get  their  promise  to  come  and 
spend  the  next  day  at  Madame  de  la  Tour's. 


94  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Accordingly,  mothers  of  families,  with  two  or 
three  thin,  yellow,  miserable-looking  daughters, 
so  timid  that  they  dared  not  look  up,  made 
their  appearance.  Virginia  soon  put  them  at 
their  ease ;  she  waited  upon  them  with  refresh- 
ments, the  excellence  of  which  she  endeavored 
to  heighten  by  relating  some  particular  circum- 
stance which,  in  her  own  estimation,  vastly 
improved  them.  One  beverage  had  been 
prepared  by  Margaret;  another,  by  her 
mother ;  her  brother  himself  had  climed  some 
lofty  tree  for  the  very  fruit  she  was  presenting. 
She  would  then  get  Paul  to  dance  with  them, 
nor  would  she  leave  them  till  she  saw  that  they 
were  happy.  She  wished  them  to  partake  of 
the  joy  of  her  own  family.  "It  is  only,"  she 
said,  "by  promoting  the  happiness  of  others, 
that  we  can  secure  our  own."  When  they 
left,  she  generally  presented  them  with  some 
little  article  they  seemed  to  fancy,  enforcing 
their  acceptance  of  it  by  some  delicate  pretext, 
that  she  might  not  appear  to  know  they  were 
in  want.  If  she  remarked  that  their  clothes 
were  much  tattered,  she  obtained  her  mother's 
permission  to  give  them  some  of  her  own,  and 
then  sent  Paul  to  leave  them  secretly  at  their 
cottage  doors.  She  thus  followed  the  divine 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  95 

precept, — concealing  the  benefactor,  and  re- 
vealing only  the  benefit. 

Your  Europeans,  whose  minds  are  imbued 
from  infancy  with  prejudices  at  variance  with 
happiness,  cannot  imagine  all  the  instruction 
and  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  nature.  Your 
souls,  confined  to  a  small  sphere  of  intelligence, 
soon  reaches  the  limit  of  its  artificial  enjoy- 
ments :  but  nature  and  the  heart  are  inexhaust- 
f-  ible.  Paul  and  Virginia  had  neither  clock,  nor 
>  almanack,  nor  books  of  chronology,  history  or 
philosophy.  The  periods  of  their  lives  were 
regulated  by  those  of  the  operations  of  nature, 
and  their  familiar  conversation  had  a  reference 
to  the  changes  of  the  seasons.  They  knew  the 
time  of  day  by  the  shadows  of  the  trees;  the 
seasons,  by  the  times  when  those  trees  bore 
flowers  or  fruit ;  and  the  years,  by  the  number 
of  their  harvests.  These  soothing  images 
diffused  an  inexpressible  charm  over  their  con- 
versation. "It  is  time  to  dine,"  said  Virginia, 
-•  "the  shadows  of  the  plan  tain- trees  are  at  their 
roots:"  or,  "Night  approaches,  the  tamarinds 
are  closing  their  leaves."  "When  will  you 
come  and  see  us?"  inquired  some  of  her  com- 
panions in  the  neighborhood.  "At  the  time 
of  the  sugar-canes,"  answered  Virginia. 
"Your  visit  will  be  then  still  more  delightful," 


96  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

resumed  her  young  acquaintances.  When  she 
was  asked  what  was  her  own  age  and  that  of 
Paul, — "My  brother,"  said  she,  "is  as  old  as 
the  great  cocoa- tree  of  the  fountain ;  and  I  am 
old  as  the  little  one:  the  mangoes  have 
borne  fruit  twelve  times,  and  the  orange-trees 
have  flowered  four-and-twenty  times,  since  I 
came  into  the  world."  Their  lives  seemed 
linked  to  that  of  the  trees,  like  those  of  Fauns 
or  Dryads.  They  knew  no  other  historical 
epochs  than  those  of  the  lives  of  their  mothers, 
/  no  other  chronology  than  that  of  their  orchards, 
and  no  other  philosophy  than  that  of  doing 
good,  and  resigning  themselves  to  the  will  of 
Heaven. 

What  need,  indeed,  had  these  young  people 
of  riches  or  learning  such  as  ours?  Rather 
their  necessities  and  their  ignorance  increased 
their  happiness.  No  day  passed  in  which  they 
were  not  of  some  service  to  one  another,  or  in 
in  which  they  did  not  mutually  impart  some 
instruction.  Yes,  instruction;  for  if  errors 
mingled  with  it,  they  were,  at  least,  not  of  a 
dangerous  character.  A  pure-minded  being  has 
none  of  that  description  to  fear.  Thus  grew 
these  children  of  nature.  No  care  had  troubled 
their  peace,  no  intemperance  had  corrupted 
their  blood,  no  misplaced  passion  had  depraved 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  97 

their  hearts.  Love,  innocence,  and  piety 
possessed  their  souls;  and  those  intellectual 
graces  were  unfolding  daily  in  their  features, 
their  attitudes,  and  their  movements.  Still  in 
the  morning  of  life,  they  had  all  its  blooming 
freshness:  and  surely  such  in  the  garden  of 
Eden  appeared  our  first  parents,  when  coming 
from  the  hands  of  God,  they  first  saw,  and 
approached  each  other,  and  conversed  together, 
like  brother  and  sister.  Virginia  was  gentle, 
modest,  and  confiding  as  Eve;  and  Paul,  like 
Adam,  united  the  stature  of  manhood  with 
the  simplicity  of  a  child. 

Sometimes,  if  alone  with  Virginia,  he  has  a 
thousand  times  told  me,  he  used  to  say  to  her, 
on  his  return  from  labor, — "When  I  am 
wearied,  the  sight  of  you  refreshes  me.  If 
from  the  summit  of  the  mountain  I  perceive 
you  below  in  the  valley,  you  appear  to  me  in 
the  midst  of  our  orchard  like  a  blooming  rose- 
bud. If  you  go  towards  our  mother's  house, 
the  partridge,  when  it  runs  to  meet  its  young, 
has  a  shape  less  beautiful,  and  a  step  less  light. 
When  I  lose  sight  of  you  through  the  trees,  I 
have  no  need  to  see  you  in  order  to  find  you 
again.  Something  of  you,  I  know  not  how, 
remains  for  me  in  the  air  through  which  you 
have  been  passed,  on  the  grass  whereon  you 

7    Paul  and  Virginia 


98  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

have  been  seated.  When  I  come  near  you, 
you  delight  all  my  senses.  The  azure  of  the 
sky  is  less  charming  than  the  blue  of  your  eyes, 
and  the  song  of  the  amadavid  bird  less  soft 
than  the  sound  of  your  voice.  If  I  only  touch 
you  with  the  tip  of  my  finger,  my  whole  frame 
trembles  with  pleasure.  Do  you  remember 
the  day  when  we  crossed  over  the  great  stones 
of  the  river  of  the  Three  Breasts?  I  was  very 
tired  before  we  reached  the  bank :  but,  as  soon 
as  I  had  taken  you  in  my  arms,  I  seemed  to 
have  wings  like  a  bird.  Tell  me  by  what 
charm  you  have  thus  enchanted  me?  Is  it  by 
your  wisdom? — Our  mothers  have  more  than 
either  of  us.  Is  it  by  your  caresses? — They 
embrace  me  much  oftener  than  you.  I  think 
it  must  be  by  your  goodness.  I  shall  never 
forget  how  you  walked  barefooted  to  the  Black 
River,  to  ask  pardon  for  the  poor  runaway  slave. 
Here,  my  beloved,  take  this  flowering  branch 
of  a  lemon-tree,  which  I  have  gathered  in  the 
forest:  you  will  let  it  remain  at  night  near 
your  bed.  Eat  this  honeycomb  too,  which  I 
have  taken  for  you  from  the  top  of  a  rock. 
But  first  lean  on  my  bosom,  and  I  shall  be 
refreshed." 

Virginia  would  answer  him, — "Oh,  my  dear 
brother,  the  ra37s  of  the  sun  in  the  morning  on 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  99 

the  tops  of  the  rocks  give  me  less  joy  than  the 
sight  of  you.  I  love  my  mother, — I  love 
yours ;  but  when  they  call  you  their  son,  I  love 
them  a  thousand  times  more.  When  they 
caress  you,  I  feel  it  more  sensibly  than  when 
I  am  caressed  myself.  You  ask  me  what 
makes  you  love  me.  Why,  all  creatures  that 
are  brought  up  together  love  one  another. 
Look  at  our  birds ;  reared  up  in  the  same  nests, 
they  love  each  other  as  we  do ;  they  are  always 
together  like  us.  Hark!  how  they  call  and 
answer  from  one  tree  to  another.  So  when  the 
echoes  bring  to  my  ears  the  air  which  you  play 
on  your  flute  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  I 
repeat  the  words  at  the  bottom  of  the  valley. 
You  are  dear  to  me  more  especially  since  the 
day  when  you  wanted  to  fight  the  master  of  the 
slave  for  me.  Since  that  time  how  often  have 
I  said  to  myself,  'Ah,  my  brother  has  a  good 
heart;  but  for  him,  I  should  have  died  of 
terror.'  I  pray  to  God  every  day  for  my 
^mother  and  for  yours,  and  for  our  poor  serv- 
ants; but  when  I  pronounce  your  name,  my 
•devotion  seems  to  increase; — I  ask  so  earnestly 
of  God  that  no  harm  may  befall  you !  Why  do 
you  go  so  far,  and  climb  so  high,  to  seek  fruits 
and  flowers  for  me?  Have  we  not  enough  in 
our  garden  already?  How  much  you  are 


100  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

fatigued, — you  look  so  warm!" — and  with  her 
little  white  handkerchief  she  would  wipe  the 
damps  from  his  face,  and  then  imprint  a  tender 
kiss  on  his  forehead. 

For  sometime  past,  however,  Virginia  had 
felt  her  heart  agitated  by  new  sensations.  Her 
beautiful  blue  eyes  lost  their  luster,  her  cheek 
its  freshness,  and  her  frame  was  overpowered 
with  a  universal  languor.  Serenity  no  longer 
sat  upon  her  brow,  nor  smiles  played  upon  her 
lips.  She  would  become  all  at  once  gay  without 
cause  for  joy,  and  melancholy  without  any 
subject  for  grief.  She  fled  her  innocent  amuse- 
ments, her  gentle  toils,  and  even  the  society 
of  her  beloved  family;  wandering  about  the 
most  unfrequented  parts  of  the  plantations, 
and  seeking  everywhere  the  rest  which  she 
could  nowhere  find.  Sometimes,  at  the  sight 
of  Paul,  she  advanced  sportively  to  meet  him ; 
but,  when  about  to  accost  him,  was  overcome 
by  a  sudden  confusion;  her  pale  cheeks  were 
covered  with  blushes,  and  her  eyes  no  longer 
dared  to  meet  those  of  her  brother.  Paul  said 
to  her, — "The  rocks  are  covered  with  verdure, 
our  birds  begin  to  sing  when  you  approach, 
everything  around  you  is  gay,  and  you  only 
are  unhappy. ' '  He  then  endeavored  to  soothe 
her  by  his  embraces,  but  she  turned  away  her 


PAUL   AND  VIRGINIA.  101 

head,  and  fled,  trembling,  towards  her  mother. 
The  caresses  of  her  brother  excited  too  much 
emotion  in  her  agitated  heart,  and  she  sought, 
in  the  arms  of  her  mother,  refuge  from  her- 
self. Paul,  unused  to  the  secret  windings  of 
the  female  heart,  vexed  himself  in  vain  in 
endeavoring  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of 
these  new  and  strange  caprices.  Misfortunes 
seldom  come  alone,  and  a  serious  calamity  now 
impended  over  these  families. 

One  of  those  summers,  which  sometimes 
desolate  the  countries  situated  between  the 
tropics,  now  began  to  spread  its  ravages  over 
this  island.  It  was  near  the  end  of  December, 
when  the  sun,  in  Capricorn,  darts  over  the 
Mauritius,  during  the  space  of  three  weeks,  its 
vertical  fires.  The  southeast  wind,  which  pre- 
vails throughout  almost  the  whole  year,  no 
longer  blew.  Vast  columns  of  dust  arose  from 
the  highways,  and  hung  suspended  in  the  air; 
the  ground  was  everywhere  broken  into  clefts ; 
*  the  grass  was  burnt  up ;  hot  exhalations  issued 
from  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  and  their  riv- 
ulets, for  the  most  part,  became  dry.  No 
refreshing  cloud  ever  arose  from  the  sea:  fiery 
vapors,  only,  during  the  day,  ascended  from  the 
plains,  and  appeared,  at  sunset,  like  the  reflec- 
tion of  a  vast  conflagration.  Night  brought  no 


102  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

coolness  to  the  heated  atmosphere;  and  the 
red  moon  rising  in  the  misty  horizon,  appeared 
of  supernatural  magnitude.  The  drooping 
cattle,  on  the  sides  of  the  hills,  stretching  out 
their  necks  towards  heaven,  and  panting  for 
breath,  made  the  valleys  re-echo  with  their 
melancholy  lowings:  even  the  Caff  re  by  whom 
they  were  led,  threw  himself  upon  the  earth, 
in  search  of  some  cooling  moisture:  but  his 
hopes  were  vain ;  the  scorching  sun  had  pene- 
trated the  whole  soil,  and  the  stifling  atmos- 
phere everywhere  resounded  with  the  buzzing 
noise  of  insects,  seeking  to  allay  their  thirst 
with  the  blood  of  men  and  of  animals. 

During  this  sultry  season,  Virginia's  restless- 
ness and  disquietude  were  much  increased. 
One  night,  in  particular,  being  unable  to 
sleep,  she  arose  from  her  bed,  sat  down,  and 
returned  to  rest  again ;  but  could  find  in  no  at- 
titude either  slumber  or  repose.  At  length  she 
bent  her  way,  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  towards 
her  fountain,  and  gazed  at  its  spring,  which, 
notwithstanding  the  drought,  still  trickled,  in 
silver  threads  down  the  brown  sides  of  the 
rock.  She  flung  herself  into  the  basin:  its 
coolness  reanimated  her  spirits,  and  a  thousand 
soothing  remembrances  came  to  her  mind. 
She  recollected  that  in  her  infancy  her  mother 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  103 

and  Margaret  had  amused  themselves  by  bath- 
ing her  with  Paul  in  this  very  spot ;  that  he 
afterwards  reserving  this  bath  for  her  sole  use, 
had  hollowed  out  its  bed,  covered  the  bottom 
with  sand,  and  sown  aromatic  herbs  around  its 
borders.  She  saw  in  the  water,  upon  her  naked 
arms  and  bosom,  the  reflection  of  the  two  cocoa 
trees  which  were  planted  at  her  own  and  her 
brother's  birth,  and  which  interwove  above  her 
head  their  green  branches  and  young  fruit. 
She  thought  of  Paul's  friendship,  sweeter  than 
the  odor  of  the  blossoms,  purer  than  the  waters 
of  the  fountain,  stronger  than  the  interwining 
palm-tree,  and  she  sighed.  Reflecting  on  the 
hour  of  the  night,  and  the  profound  solitude, 
her  imagination  became  disturbed.  Suddenly 
she  flew,  affrighted,  from  those  dangerous 
shades,  and  those  waters  which  seemed  to  her 
hotter  than  the  tropical  sunbeam,  and  ran  to 
her  mother  for  refuge.  More  than  once,  wish- 
ing to  reveal  her  sufferings,  she  pressed  her 
mother's  hand  within  her  own;  more  than 
once  she  was  ready  to  pronounce  the  name  of 
Paul :  but  her  oppressed  heart  left  her  lips  no 
power  of  utterance,  and,  leaning  her  head  on 
her  mother's  bosom,  she  bathed  it  with  her 
tears. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  though  she  easily  dis- 


104  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

cerned  the  source  of  her  daughter's  uneasiness, 
did  not  think  proper  to  speak  to  her  on  the  sub- 
ject. "My  dear  child,"  said  she,  "offer  up 
your  supplications  to  God,  who  disposes  at  his 
will  of  health  and  of  life.  He  subjects  you  to 
trial  now,  in  order  to  recompense  you  here- 
after. Remember  that  we  are  only  placed 
upon  earth  for  the  exercise  of  virtue." 

The  excessive  heat  in  the  meantime  raised 
vast  masses  of  vapor  from  the  ocean,  which 
hung  over  the  island  like  an  immense  parasol, 
and  gathered  round  the  summits  of  the  moun- 
tains. Long  flakes  of  fire  issued  from  time  to 
time  from  these  mist-embosomed  peaks. 
The  most  awful  thunder  soon  after  re-echoed 
through  the  woods,  the  plains,  and  the  valleys ; 
the  rains  fell  from  the  skies  in  cataracts ;  foam- 
ing torrents  rushed  down  the  sides  of  this 
mountain ;  the  bottom  of  the  valley  became  a 
sea,  and  the  elevated  platform  on  which  the  cot- 
tages were  built,  a  little  island.  The  accumu- 
lated waters,  having  no  other  outlet,  rushed 
with  violence  through  the  narrow  gorge  which 
leads  into  the  valley,  tossing  and  roaring,  and 
bearing  along  with  them  a  mingled  wreck  of 
soil,  trees,  and  rocks. 

The  trembling  families  meantime  addressed 
their  prayers  to  God  all  together  in  the  cottage 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  105 

of  Madame  de  la  Tour,  the  roof  of  which 
cracked  fearfully  from  the  force  of  the  winds. 
So  incessant  and  vivid  were  the  lightnings, 
that  although  the  doors  and  window-shutters 
were  securely  fastened,  every  object  without 
could  be  distinctly  seen  through  the  joints  in 
the  woodwork!  Paul,  followed  by  Domingo, 
went  with  intrepidity  from  one  cottage  to 
another,  notwithstanding  the  fury  of  the 
tempest;  here  supporting  a  partition  with  a 
buttress,  there  driving  in  a  stake;  and  only 
returning  to  the  family  to  calm  their  fears,  by 
the  expression  of  a  hope  that  the  storm  was 
passing  away.  Accordingly,  in  the  evening  the 
rains  ceased,  the  trade-winds  of  the  south-east 
pursued  their  ordinary  course,  the  tempestuous 
clouds  were  driven  away  to  the  northward,  and 
the  setting  sun  appeared  in  the  horizon. 

Virginia's  first  wish  was  to  visit  the  spot 
called  her  Resting-place.  Paul  approached 
her  with  a  timid  air,  and  offered  her  the  assist- 
•*  ance  of  his  arm ;  she  accepted  it  with  a  smile, 
and  they  left  the  cottage  together.  The  air 
was  clear  and  fresh ;  white  vapors  arose  from 
the  ridges  of  the  mountain,  which  was  fur- 
rowed here  and  there  by  the  courses  of  tor- 
rents, marked  in  foam,  and  now  beginning  to 
dry  up  on  all  sides.  As  for  the  garden,  it  was 


106  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

completely  torn  to  pieces  by  deep  water-courses, 
the  roots  of  most  of  the  fruit-trees  were  laid 
bare,  and  vast  heaps  of  sand  covered  the  bor- 
ders of  the  meadows,  and  had  choked  up  Vir- 
ginia's bath.  The  two  cocoa  trees,  however, 
were  still  erect,  and  still  retained  their  fresh- 
ness; but  they  were  no  longer  surrounded  by 
turf,  or  arbors,  or  birds,  except  a  few  amadavid 
birds,  which,  upon  the  points  of  the  neighbor- 
ing rocks,  were  lamenting,  in  plaintive  notes, 
the  loss  of  their  young. 

At  the  sight  of  this  general  desolation,  Vir- 
ginia exclaimed  to  Paul, — "You  brought  birds 
hither,  and  the  hurricane  has  killed  them.  You 
planted  this  garden,  and  it  is  now  destroyed. 
Everything  then  upon  earth  perishes,  and  it 
is  only  Heaven  that  is  not  subject  to  change.  " 
— "Why,"  answered  Paul,  "cannot  I  give  you 
something  that  belongs  to  heaven?  but  I  have 
nothing  of  my  own,  even  upon  the  earth." 
Virginia  with  a  blush  replied,  "You  have  the 
picture  of  St.  Paul."  As  soon  as  she  had  ut- 
tered the  words,  he  flew  in  quest  of  it  to  his 
mother's  cottage.  This  picture  was  a  minia- 
ture of  Paul  the  Hermit,  which  Margaret,  who 
viewed  it  with  feelings  of  great  devotion,  had 
worn  at  her  neck  while  a  girl,  and  which,  after 
she  became  a  mother,  she  had  placed  round 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  10? 

her  child's.  It  had  even  happened,  that  being, 
while  pregnant,  abandoned  by  all  the  world, 
and  constantly  occupied  in  contemplating  the 
image  of  this  benevolent  recluse,  her  offspring 
had  contracted  some  semblance  to  this  revered 
object.  She,  therefore,  bestowed  upon  him 
the  name  of  Paul,  giving  him  for  his  patron  a 
saint  who  had  passed  his  life  far  from  mankind 
by  whom  he  had  been  first  deceived  and  then 
forsaken.  Virginia,  on  receiving  this  little 
present  from  the  hands  of  Paul,  said  to  him, 
with  emotion,  "My  dear  brother,  I  will  never 
part  with  his  while  I  live ;  nor  will  I  ever  for- 
get that  you  have  given  me  the  only  thing  you 
have  in  this  world. ' '  At  this  tone  of  friend- 
ship,— this  unhoped-for  return  of  familiarity 
and  tenderness,  Paul  attempted  to  embrace 
her ;  but,  light  as  a  bird,  she  escaped  him,  and 
fled  away,  leaving  him  astonished,  and  unable 
to  account  for  conduct  so  extraordinary. 

Meanwhile  Margaret  said  to  Madame  de  la 
*  Tour,  "Why  do  we  not  unite  our  children  by 
marriage?  They  have  a  strong  attachment  for 
each  other,  and  though  my  son  hardly  under- 
stands the  real  nature  of  his  feelings,  yet  great 
care  and  watchfulness  will  be  necessary.  Un- 
der such  circumstances,  it  will  be  as  well  not  to 
leave  them  too  much  together."  Madame  de 


108  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

la  Tour  replied,  "They  are  too  young,  and  too 
poor.  What  grief  would  it  occasion  us  to  see 
Virginia  bring  into  the  world  unfortunate  chil- 
dren, whom  she  would  not  perhaps  have  suffi- 
cient strength  to  rear!  Your  negro,  Domingo, 
is  almost  too  old  to  labor ;  Mary  is  infirm.  As 
for  myself,  my  dear  friend,  at  the  end  of  fifteen 
years,  I  find  my  strength  greatly  decreased; 
the  feebleness  of  age  advances  rapidly  in  hot 
climates,  and,  above  all,  under  the  pressure  of 
misfortune,  Paul  is  our  only  hope :  let  us  wait 
till  he  comes  to  maturity,  and  his  increased 
strength  enables  him  to  support  us  by  his  la- 
bor, at  present  you  well  know  that  we  have 
only  sufficient  to  supply  the  wants  of  the  day; 
but  were  we  to  send  Paul  for  a  short  time  to 
the  Indies,  he  might  acquire,  by  commerce,  the 
means  of  purchasing  some  slaves;  and  at  his 
return  we  could  unite  him  to  Virginia;  for  I 
am  persuaded  no  one  on  earth  would  render 
her  so  happy  as  your  son.  We  will  consult  our 
neighbor  on  this  subject. '' 

They  accordingly  asked  my  advice,  which  was 
in  accordance  with  Madame  de  la  Tour's  opin- 
ion. "The  Indian  seas,"  I  observed  to  them, 
"are  calm,  and,  in  choosing  a  favorable  time  of 
the  year,  the  voyage  out  is  seldom  longer  than 
six  weeks;  and  the  same  time  may  be  allowed 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  109 

for  the  return  home.  We  will  furnish  Paul  with 
a  little  venture  from  my  neighborhood,  where 
he  is  much  beloved.  If  we  were  only  to  sup- 
ply him  with  some  raw  cotton,  of  which  we 
make  no  use  for  want  of  mills  to  work  it,  some 
ebony  which  is  here  so  common  that  it  serves 
us  for  firing,  and  some  rosin,  which  is  found  in 
our  woods,  he  would  be  able  to  sell  those  arti- 
cles, though  useless  here,  to  good  advantage 
in  the  Indies." 

I  took  upon  myself  to  obtain  permission  from 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  to  undertake  this 
voyage;  and  I  determined  previously  to  men- 
tion the  affair  to  Paul.  But  what  was  my  sur- 
prise, when  this  young  man  said  to  me,  with  a 
degree  of  good  sense  above  his  age,  "And  why 
do  you  wish  me  to  leave  my  family  for  this 
precarious  pursuit  of  fortune?  Is  there  any 
commerce  in  the  world  more  advantageous  than 
the  culture  of  the  ground,  which  yields  some- 
times fifty  or  a  hundred- fold?  If  we  wish  to 
engage  in  commerce,  can  we  not  do  so  by  car- 
rying  our  superfluities  to  the  town  without  my 
wandering  to  the  Indies?  Our  mothers  tell 
me  that  Domingo  is  old  and  feeble;  but  I  am 
young,  and  gather  strength  every  day.  If  any 
accident  should  happen  during  my  absence, 


110  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

above  all  to  Virginia,  who  already  suffers — Oh, 
no  no! — I  cannot  resolve  to  leave  them." 

So  decided  an  answer  threw  me  into  great 
perplexity,  for  Madame  de  la  Tour  had  not 
concealed  from  me  the  cause  of  Virginia's  ill- 
ness and  want  of  spirits,  and  her  desire  of  sep- 
arating these  young  people  till  they  were  a  few 
years  older.  I  took  care,  however,  not  to  drop 
anything  which  could  lead  Paul  to  suspect  the 
existence  of  these  motives. 

About  this  period  a  ship  from  France  brought 
Madame  de  la  Tour  a  letter  from  her  aunt. 
The  fear  of  death,  without  which  hearts  as  in- 
sensible as  hers  would  never  feel,  had  alarmed 
her  into  compassion.  When  she  wrote  she  was 
recovering  from  a  dangerous  illness,  which 
had,  however,  left  her  incurably  languid  and 
weak.  She  desired  her  niece  to  return  to 
France;  or,  if  her  health  forbade  her  to  under- 
take so  long  a  voyage,  she  begged  her  to  send 
Virginia,  on  whom  she  promised  to  bestow  a 
good  education,  to  procure  for  her  a  splendid 
marriage  and  to  leave  her  heiress  of  her  whole 
fortune.  She  concluded  by  enjoining  strict 
obedience  to  her  will,  in  gratitude,  she  said, 
for  her  great  kindness. 

At  the  perusal  of(  this  letter  general  conster- 
nation spread  itself  through  the  whole  assem- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  Ill 

bled  party.  Domingo  and  Mary  began  to 
weep.  Paul,  motionless  with  surprise,  ap- 
peared almost  ready  to  burst  with  indignation ; 
while  Virginia,  fixing  her  eyes  anxiously  upon 
her  mother,  had  not  power  to  utter  a  single 
word.  "And  can  you  now  leave  us?"  cried 
Margaret  to  Madame  de  la  Tour.  "No,  my 
dear  friend,  no,  my  beloved  children, ' '  replied 
Madame  de  la  Tour.  "I  will  never  leave  you 
I  have  lived  with  you,  and- with  you  I  will  die. 
I  have  known  no  happiness  but  in  your  affec- 
tion. If  my  health  be  deranged,  my  past  mis- 
fortunes are  the  cause.  My  heart  has  been 
deeply  wounded  by  the  cruelty  of  my  relations, 
and  by  the  loss  of  my  beloved  husband.  But 
I  have  since  found  more  consolation  and  more 
real  happiness  with  you  in  these  humble  huts, 
than  all  the  wealth  of  my  family  could  now  lead 
me  to  expect  in  my  own  country. ' ' 

At  this  soothing  language  every  eye  over- 
flowed with  tears  of  delight.     Paul,  pressing 
5  Madame  de  la  Tour  in  his  arms,  exclaimed, — 
. .  "Neither  will  I  leave  you!    I  will  not  go  to  the 
Indies.     We  will  all  labor  for  you,  dear  mam- 
ma, and  you  shall   never  feel  any  want  with 
us."     But  of  the  whole  society,  the  person  who 
displayed  the  least  transport,  and  who  probably 
felt  the  most,  was  Virginia;  and  during  the 


112  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

remainder  of  the  day,  the  gentle  gayety  which 
flowed  from  her  heart,  and  proved  that  her 
peace  of  mind  was  restored,  completed  the  gen- 
eral satisfaction. 

At  sunrise  the  next  day,  just  as  they  had 
concluded  offering  up,  as  usual,  their  morning 
prayer  before  breakfast,  Domingo  came  to  in- 
form them  that  a  gentleman  on  horseback,  fol- 
lowed by  two  slaves,  was  coming  towards  the 
plantation.  It  was  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdon- 
nais.  He  entered  the  cottage,  where  he  found 
the  family  at  breakfast.  Virginia  had  pre- 
pared, according  to  the  custom  of  the  country, 
coffee,  and  rice  boiled  in  water.  To  these  she 
had  added  hot  yams,  and  fresh  plantains.  The 
leaves  of  the  plantain-tree  supplied  the  want  of 
table  linen ;  and  calabash  shells,  split  in  two, 
served  for  cups.  The  Governor  exhibited,  at 
first,  some  astonishment  at  the  homeliness  of 
the  dwelling;  then,  addressing  himself  to 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  he  observed,  that  although 
public  affairs  drew  his  attention  too  much  from 
the  concerns  of  individuals,  she  had  many 
claims  on  his  good  offices.  "You  have  an  aunt 
at  Paris,  madam,"  he  added,  **a  woman  of 
quality,  and  immensely  rich,  who  expects  that 
you  will  hasten  to  see  her,  and  who  means  to 
bestow  upon  you  her  whole  fortune. ' '  Madame 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  113 

de  la  Tour  replied  that  the  state  of  her  health 
would  not  permit  her  to  undertake  so  long  a 
voyage.  "At  least,*'  resumed  Monsieur  de  la 
Bourdonnais,  "you  cannot  without  injustice, 
deprive  this  amiable  young  lady,  your  daughter, 
of  so  noble  an  inheritance.  I  will  not  conceal 
from  you,  that  your  aunt  has  made  use  of  her 
influence  to  secure  your  daughter  being  sent 
to  her;  and  that  I  have  received  official  letters, 
in  which  I  am  ordered  to  exert  my  authority,  if 
necessary,  to  that  effect  But  as  I  only  wish 
to  employ  my  power  for  the  purpose  of  render- 
ing the  inhabitants  of  this  country  happy,  I  ex- 
pect from  your  good  sense  the  voluntary  sacri- 
fice of  a  few  years,  upon  which  your  daughter's 
establishment  in  the  world,  and  the  welfare  of 
your  whole  life  depends.  Wherefore  do  we 
come  to  these  islands?  Is  it  not  to  acquire  a 
fortune?  And  will  it  not  be  more  agreeable  to 
return  and  find  it  in  your  own  country?*' 

He  then  took  a  large  bag  of  piastres  from 
one  of  his  slaves,  and  placed  it  upon  the  table. 
"This  sum,"  he  continued,  <4is  allotted  by  your 
aunt  to  defray  the  outlay  necessary  for  the 
equipment  of  the  young  lady  for  her  voyage. " 
Gently  reproaching  Madame  de  la  Tour  for  not 
having  had  recourse  to  him  in  her  difficulties, 
he  extolled  at  the  same  time  her  noble  forti- 

8    Paul  and  Virginia 


114  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

tude.  Upon  this  Paul  said  to  the  Governor,— 
"My  mother  did  apply  to  you,  sir,  and  you  re- 
ceived her  ill." — "Have  you  another  child, 
madam,"  said  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  to 
Madame  de  la  Tour.  "No,  sir,"  she  replied, 
"this  is  the  son  of  my  friend;  but  he  and  Vir- 
ginia are  equally  dear  to  us,  and  we  mutually 
consider  them  both  as  our  own  children." 
"Young  man,"  said  the  Governor  to  Paul, 
"when  you  have  acquired  a  little  more  experi- 
ence of  the  world,  you  will  know  that  it  is  the 
misfortune  of  people  in  place  to  be  deceived, 
and  bestow,  in  consequence,  upon  intriguing 
vice,  that  which  they  would  wish  to  give  to 
modest  merit. " 

Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais,  at  the  request 
of  Madame  de  la  Tour,  placed  himself  next  to 
her  at  the  table,  and  breakfasted  after  the 
manner  of  the  Creoles,  upon  coffee,  mixed  with 
rice  boiled  in  water.  He  was  delighted  with 
the  order  and  cleanliness  which  prevailed  in 
the  little  cottage,  the  harmony  of  the  two  inter- 
esting families,  and  the  zeal  of  their  old  serv- 
ants. "Here,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  discern  only 
wooden  furniture:  but  I  find  serene  counte- 
nances and  hearts  of  gold. ' '  Paul,  enchanted 
with  the  affability  of  the  Governor,  said  to 
him, — "I  wish  to  be  your  friend,  for  you  are 


It  was'Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais."— Page  112. 

Paul  and  Virginia. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  115 

a  good  man."  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais 
received  with  pleasure  this  insular  compli- 
ment, and,  taking  Paul  by  the  hand,  assured 
him  he  might  rely  upon  his  friendship. 

After  breakfast,  he  took  Madame  de  la  Tour 
aside  and  informed  her  that  an  opportunity 
would  soon  offer  itself  of  sending  her  daughter 
to  France,  in  a  ship  which  was  going  to  sail  in 
a  short  time;  that  he  would  put  her  under 
the  charge  of  a  lady,  one  of  the  passengers, 
who  was  a  relation  of  his  own ;  and  that  she 
must  not  think  of  renouncing  an  immense  for- 
tune, on  account  of  the  pain  of  being  separated 
from  her  daughter  for  a  brief  interval.  "Your 
aunt,"  he  added,  "cannot  live  more  than  two 
years;  of  this  I  am  assured  by  her  friends. 
Think  of  it  seriously.  Fortune  does  not  visit 
us  every  day.  Consult  your  friends.  I  am 
sure  that  every  person  of  good  sense  will  be  of 
my  opinion. "  She  answered,  "that,  as  she  de- 
sired no  other  happiness  henceforth  in  the 
world  than  in  promoting  that  of  her  daughter, 
she  hoped  to  be  allowed  to  leave  her  departure 
for  France  entirely  to  her  own  inclination. ' ' 

Madame  de  la  Tour  was  not  sorry  to  find  an 
opportunity  of  separating  Paul  and  Virginia  for 
a  short  time,  and  provide,  by  this  means,  for 
their  mutual  felicity  at  a  future  period.  She 


116  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

took  her  daughter  aside,  and  said  to  her, — "My 
dear  child,  our  servants  are  now  old.  Paul  is 
still  very  young,  Margaret  is  advanced  in 
years,  and  I  am  already  infirm.  If  I  should 
die  what  would  become  of  you,  without  for- 
tune, in  the  midst  of  these  deserts?  You 
would  then  be  left  alone,  without  any  person 
who  could  afford  you  much  assistance,  and 
would  be  obliged  to  labor  without  ceasing,  as  a 
hired  servant,  in  order  to  support  your 
wretched  existence.  This  idea  overcomes  me 
with  sorrow. ' '  Virginia  answered, — ' '  God  has 
appointed  us  to  labor,  and  to  bless  him  every 
day.  Up  to  this  time  he  has  never  forsaken 
us,  and  he  never  will  forsake  us  in  time  to 
come.  His  providence  watches  most  espe- 
cially over  the  unfortunate  You  have  told  me 
this  very  often,  my  dear  mother !  I  cannot 
resolve  to  leave  you. "  Madame  de  la  Tour 
replied,  with  much  emotion, — "I  have  no  other 
aim  than  to  render  you  happy,  and  to  marry 
you  one  day  to  Paul,  who  is  not  really  your 
brother.  Remember,  then,  that  his  fortune 
depends  upon  you." 

A  young  girl  who  is  in  love  believes  that 
every  one  else  is  ignorant  of  her  passion ;  she 
throws  over  her  eyes  the  veil  with  which  she 
covers  the  feelings  of  her  heart ;  but  when  it 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  117 

is  once  lifted  by  a  friendly  hand,  the  hidden 
sorrows  of  her  attachment  escape  as  through  a 
newly-opened  barrier,  and  the  sweet  outpour- 
ings of  unrestrained  confidence  succeed  to  her 
former  mystery  and  reserve.  Virginia,  deeply 
affected  by  this  new  proof  of  her  mother's  ten- 
derness, related  to  her  the  cruel  struggles  she 
had  undergone,  of  which  heaven  alone  had 
been  witness;  she  saw,  she  said,  the  hand  of 
Providence  in  the  assistance  of  an  affectionate 
mother,  who  approved  of  her  attachment ;  and 
would  guide  her  by  her  counsels ;  and  as  she 
was  now  strengthened  by  such  support,  every 
consideration  led  her  to  remain  with  her 
mother,  without  anxiety  for  the  present,  and 
without  apprehension  for  the  future. 

Madame"  de  la  Tour,  perceiving  that  this 
confidential  conversation  had  produced  an 
effect  altogether  different  from  that  which  she 
expected,  said, — "My  dear  child,  I  do  not  wish 
to  constrain  you ;  think  over  it  at  leisure,  but 
conceal  your  affection  from  Paul.  It  is  better 
.  not  to  let  a  man  know  that  the  heart  of  his  mis- 
tress is  gained." 

Virginia  and  her  mother  were  sitting  to- 
gether by  themselves  the  same  evening,  when 
a  tall  man,  dressed  in  a  blue  cassock,  entered 
their  cottage.  He  was  a  missionary  priest  and 


118  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

the  confessor  of  Madame  de  la  Tour  and  her 
daughter,  who  had  now  been  sent  them  by  the 
Governor.  "My  children,"  he  exclaimed  as 
he  entered,  "God  be  praised !  you  are  now  rich. 
You  can  now  attend  to  the  kind  suggestions  of 
your  benevolent  hearts,  and  do  good  to  the 
poor.  I  know  what  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdon- 
nais  has  said  to  you,  and  what  you  have  said  in 
reply.  Your  health,  dear  madam,  obliges  you 
to  remain  here ;  but  you,  young  lady,  are 
without  excuse.  We  must  obey  the  directions 
of  Providence :  and  we  must  also  obey  our  aged 
relations,  even  when  they  are  unjust.  A  sacri- 
fice is  required  of  you ;  but  it  is  the  will  of  God. 
Our  Lord  devoted  himself  for  you;  and  you 
in  imitation  of  his  example,  must  give  up 
something  for  the  welfare  of  your  family. 
Your  voyage  to  France  will  end  happily.  You 
will  surely  consent  to  go,  my  dear  young 
lady." 

Virginia,  with  downcast  eyes,  answered, 
trembling,  "If  it  is  the  command  of  God,  I  will 
not  presume  to  oppose  it.  Let  the  will  of  God 
be  done!"  As  she  uttered  these  words,  she 
wept. 

The  priest  went  away,  in  order  to  inform  the 
Governor  of  the  success  of  his  mission.  In  the 
meantime  Madame  de  la  Tour  sent  Domingo 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  119 

to  request  me  to  come  to  her,  that  she  might 
consult  me  respecting  Virginia's  departure.  I 
was  not  at  all  of  opinion  that  she  ought  to  go. 
I  consider  it  as  a  fixed  principle  of  happiness, 
that  we  ought  to  prefer  the  advantages  of 
nature  to  those  of  fortune,  and  never  go  in 
search  of  that  at  a  distance,  which  we  may 
find  at  home, — in  our  own  bosoms.  But  what 
could  be  expected  from  my  advice,  in  opposi- 
tion to  the  illusions  of  a  splendid  fortune? — or 
from  my  simple  reasoning,  when  in  competi- 
tion with  the  prejudices  of  the  world,  and  an 
authority  held  sacred  by  Madame  de  la  Tour? 
This  lady  indeed  had  only  consulted  me  out  of 
politeness;  she  had  ceased  to  deliberate  since 
she  had  heard  the  decision  of  her  confessor. 
Margaret  herself,  who,  notwithstanding  the 
advantages  she  expected  for  her  son  from  the 
possession  of  Virginia's  fortune,  had  hitherto 
opposed  her  departure,  made  no  further  objec- 
tions. As  for  Paul,  in  ignorance  of  what  had 
teen  determined,  but  alarmed  at  the  secret 
conversations  which  Virginia  had  been  holding 
with  her  mother,  he  abandoned  himself  to 
melancholy.  "They  are  plotting  something 
against  me,"  cried  he,  "for  they  conceal  every- 
thing from  me. ' ' 
A  report  having  in  the  meantime  been 


120  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

spread  in  the  island  that  fortune  had  visited 
these  rocks,  merchants  of  every  description 
were  seen  climbing  their  steep  ascent.  Now, 
for  the  first  time,  were  seen  displayed  in  these 
humble  huts  the  richest  stuffs  of  India;  the 
fine  dimity  of  Gondelore;  the  handkerchiefs  of 
Pellicate  and  Masulipatan;  the  plain,  striped, 
and  embroidered  muslins  of  Dacca,  so  beauti- 
fully transparent ;  the  delicate  white  cottons  of 
Surat,  and  linens  of  all  colors.  They  also 
brought  with  them  the  gorgeous  silks  of  China, 
satin  damasks,  some  white,  and  others  grass- 
green  and  bright  red;  pink  taffetas,  with  a 
profusion  of  satins  and  gauze  of  Tonquin,  both 
plain  and  decorated  with  flowers ;  soft  pekins, 
downy  as  cloth ;  with  white  and  yellow  nan- 
keens, and  the  calicofes  of  Madagascar. 

Madame  de  la  Tour  wished  her  daughter  to 
purchase  whatever  she  liked;  she  only  ex- 
amined the  goods,  and  inquired  the  price,  to 
take  care  that  the  dealers  did  not  cheat  her. 
Virginia  made  choice  of  everything  she 
thought  would  be  useful  or  agreeable  to  her 
mother,  or  to  Margaret  and  her  son.  "This," 
said  she,  "will  be  wanted  for  furnishing  the 
cottage,  and  that  will  be  very  useful  to  Mary 
and  Domingo."  In  short,  the  bag  of  piastres 
was  almost  emptied  before  she  even  began  to 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  121 

consider  her  own  wants;  and  she  was  obliged 
to  receive  back  for  her  own  use  a  share  of  the 
presents  which  she  had  distributed  among  the 
family  circle. 

Paul,  overcome  with  sorrow  at  the  sight  of 
these  gifts  of  fortune,  which  he  felt  were  a 
presage  of  Virginia's  departure,  came  a  few 
days  after  to  my  dwelling.  With  an  air  of 
deep  despondency  he  said  to  me, — "My  sister 
is  going  away ;  she  is  already  making  prepara- 
tions for  her  voyage.  I  conjure  you  to  come 
and  exert  your  influence  over  her  mother  and 
mine,  in  order  to  detain  her  here.''  I  could 
not  refuse  the  young  man's  solicitations, 
although  well  convinced  that  my  representa- 
tions would  be  unavailing. 

Virginia  had  ever  appeared  to  me  charming 
when  clad  in  the  coarse  cloth  of  Bengal,  with  a 
red  handkerchief  tied  around  her  head :  you 
may  therefore  imagine  how  much  her  beauty 
was  increased  when  she  was  attired  in  the 
graceful  and  elegant  costume  worn  by  the  ladies 
of  this  country!  She  had  on  a  white  muslin 
dress,  lined  with  pink  taffeta.  Her  somewhat 
tall  and  slender  figure  was  shown  to  advantage 
in  her  new  attire,  and  the  simple  arrangement 
of  her  hair  accorded  admirably  with  the  form 
of  her  head.  Her  fine  blue  eyes  were  filled 


122  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

with  an  expression  of  melancholy;  and  the 
struggles  of  passion,  with  which  her  heart  was 
agitated,  imparted  a  flush  to  her  cheek,  and  to 
her  voice  a  tone  of  deep  emotion.  The  con- 
trast between  her  pensive  look  and  her  gay 
habiliments  rendered  her  more  interesting  than 
ever,  nor  was  it  possible  to  see  or  hear  her  un- 
moved. Paul  became  more  and  more  melan- 
choly; and  at  length  Margaret,  distressed  at 
the  situation  of  her  son,  took  him  aside,  and 
said  to  him, — "Why,  my  dear  child,  will  you 
cherish  vain  hopes,  which  will  only  render 
your  disappointment  more  bitter?  It  is  time 
for  me  to  make  known  to  you  the  secret  of  your 
life  and  of  mine-  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour  be- 
longs, by  her  mother's  side,  to  a  rich  and  noble 
family,  while  you  are  but  the  son  of  a  poor 
peasant  girl ;  and  what  is  worse,  you  are  illegi- 
timate." 

Paul,  who  had  never  heard  this  last  expres- 
sion before,  inquired  with  eagerness  its  mean- 
ing. His  mother  replied,  "I  was  not  married 
to  your  father.  When  I  was  a  girl,  seduced 
by  love,  I  was  guilty  of  a  weakness  of  which 
you  are  the  offspring.  The  consequence  of 
my  fault  is,  that  you  are  deprived  of  the  pro- 
tection of  a  father's  family,  and  by  my  flight 
from  home  you  have  also  lost  that  of  your 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  123 

mother's.  Unfortunate  child!  you  have  no  re- 
lation in  the  world  but  me ! ' ' — and  she  shed  a 
flood  of  tears.  Paul,  pressing  her  in  his  arms, 
exclaimed,  "Oh,  my  dear  mother!  since  I 
have  no  relation  in  the  world  but  you,  I  will 
love  you  all  the  more.  But  what  a  secret  have 
you  just  disclosed  to  me !  I  now  see  the  reason 
why  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour  has  estranged 
herself  so  much  from  me  for  the  last  two 
months,  and  why  she  has  determined  to  go  to 
France.  Ah !  I  perceive  too  well  that  she  de- 
spises me!" 

The  hour  of  supper  being  arrived,  we  gath- 
ered round  the  table ;  but  the  different  sensa- 
tions with  which  we  were  agitated  left  us  little 
inclination  to  eat,  and  the  meal,  if  such  it  may 
be  called,  passed  in  silence.  Virginia  was  the 
first  to  rise ;  she  went  out,  and  seated  herself 
on  the  very  spot  where  we  now  are.  Paul  has- 
tened after  her,  and  sat  down  by  her  side. 
Both  of  them,  for  some  time,  kept  a  profound 
silence.  It  was  one  of  those  delicious  nights 
which  are  so  common  between  the  tropics,  and 
to  the  beauty  of  which  no  pencil  can  do  justice. 
The  moon  appeared  in  the  midst  of  the  firma- 
ment, surrounded  by  a  curtain  of  clouds,  which 
was  gradually  unfolded  by  her  beams.  Her 
light  insensibly  spread  itself  over  the  moun- 


124  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

tains  of  the  island,  and  their  distant  peaks  glis- 
tened with  a  silvery  green.  The  winds  were 
perfectly  still.  We  heard  among  the  woods,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  valleys,  and  on  the  summits 
of  the  rocks,  the  piping  cries  and  the  soft 
notes  of  the  birds,  wantoning  in  their  nests, 
and  rejoicing  in  the  brightness  of  the  night  and 
the  serenity  of  the  atmosphere.  The  hum  of 
insects  was  heard  in  the  grass.  The  stars 
sparkled  in  the  heavens,  and  their  lucid  orbs 
were  reflected,  in  trembling  sparkles,  from  the 
tranquil  bosom  of  the  ocean.  Virginia's  eye 
wandered  distractedly  over  its  vast  and  gloomy 
horizon,  distinguishable  from  the  shore  of  the 
island  only  by  the  red  fires  in  the  fishing 
boats.  She  perceived  at  the  entrance  of  the 
harbor  a  light  and  a  shadow ;  these  were  the 
watch-light  and  the  hull  of  the  vessel  in 
which  she  was  to  embark  for  Europe,  and 
which,  all  ready  for  sea,  lay  at  anchor,  waiting 
for  a  breeze.  Affected  at  this  sight,  she  turned 
away  her  head,  in  order  to  hide  her  tears  from 
Paul. 

Madame  de  la  Tour,  Margaret,  and  I,  were 
seated  at  a  little  distance,  beneath  the  plantain 
trees;  and,  owing  to  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
we  distinctly  heard  their  conversation,  which  I 
have  not  forgotten. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  125 

Paul  said  to  her, — "You  are  going  away  from 
us,  they  tell  me,  in  three  days.  You  do  not 
fear  then  to  encounter  the  danger  of  the  sea, 
at  the  sight  of  which  you  are  so  much  terri- 
fied?" "I  must  perform  my  duty,"  answered 
Virginia,  "by  obeying  my  parent."  "You 
leave  us,"  resumed  Paul,  "for  a  distant  rela- 
tion, whom  you  have  never  seen."  "Alas!" 
cried  Virginia,  "I  would  have  remained  here 
my  whole  life,  but  my  mother  would  not  have 
it  so.  My  confessor,  too,  told  me  it  was  the 
will  of  God  that  I  should  go,  and  that  life  was 
a  scene  of  trials ! — and  oh !  this  is  indeed  a  se- 
vere one." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Paul,  "you  could  find  so 
many  reasons  for  going,  and  not  one  for  re- 
maining here!  Ah!  there  is  one  reason  for 
your  departure  that  you  have  not  mentioned. 
Riches  have  great  attractions.  You  will  soon 
find  in  the  new  world  to  which  you  are  going, 
another,  to  whom  you  will  give  the  name  of 
•brother,  which  you  bestow  on  me  no  more. 
You  will  choose  that  brother  from  amongst 
persons  who  are  worthy  of  you  by  their  birth, 
and  by  a  fortune  which  I  have  not  to  offer. 
But  where  can  you  go  to  be  happier?  On  what 
shore  will  you  land,  and  find  it  dearer  to  you 
than  the  spot  which  gave  you  birth? — and 


126  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

where  will  you  form  around  you  a  society  more 
delightful  to  you  than  this,  by  which  you  are 
so  much  beloved?  How  will  you  bear  to  live 
without  your  mother's  caresses,  to  which  you 
are  so  much  accustomed?  What  will  become 
of  her,  already  advanced  in  years,  when  she 
no  longer  sees  you  at  her  side  at  table,  in  the 
house,  in  the  walks,  where  she  used  to  lean 
upon  you?  What  will  become  of  my  mother, 
who  loves  you  with  the  same  affection?  What 
shall  I  say  to  comfort  them  when  I  see  them 
weeping  for  your  absence?  Cruel  Virginia!  I 
say  nothing  to  you  of  myself ;  but  what  will 
become  of  me,  when  in  the  morning  I  shall  no 
more  see  you ;  when  the  evening  will  come, 
and  not  reunite  us? — when  I  shall  gaze  on  these 
two  palm  trees,  planted  at  our  birth,  and  so 
long  the  witnesses  of  our  mutual  friendship? 
Ah!  since  your  lot  is  changed, — since  you  seek 
in  a  far  country  other  possessions  than  the 
fruits  of  my  labor,  let  me  go  with  you  in  the 
vessel  in  which  you  are  about  to  embark.  I 
will  sustain  your  spirits  in  the  midst  of  those 
tempests  which  terrify  you  so  much  even  on 
shore.  I  will  lay  my  head  upon  your  bosom ; 
I  will  warm  your  heart  ,upon  my  own ,  and  in 
France,  where  you  are  going  in  search  of  for- 
tune and  of  grandeur,  I  will  wait  upon  you  as 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  127 

your  slave.  Happy  only  in  your  happiness, 
you  will  find  me,  in  those  palaces  where  I  shall 
see  you  receiving  the  homage  and  adoration  of 
all,  rich  and  noble  enough  to  make  you  the 
greatest  of  all  sacrifices,  by  dying  at  your  feet. ' ' 

The  violence  of  his  emotions  stopped  his  ut- 
terance, and  we  then  heard  Virginia,  who,  in  a 
voice  broken  by  sobs,  uttered  these  words: — 
"It  is  for  you  that  I  go, — for  you  whom  I  see 
tired  to  death  every  day  by  the  labor  of  sus- 
taining two  helpless  families.  If  I  have  ac- 
cepted this  opportunity  of  becoming  rich,  it  is 
only  to  return  a  thousand-fold  the  good  which 
you  have  done  us.  Can  any  fortune  be  equal 
to  your  friendship?  Why  do  you  talk  about 
your  birth?  Ah !  it  if  were  possible  for  me  still 
to  have  a  brother,  should  I  make  choice  of  any 
other  than  you?  Oh,  Paul,  Paul!  you  are  far 
dearer  to  me  than  a  brother!  How  much  has 
it  cost  me  to  repulse  you  from  me!  Help  me 
to  tear  myself  from  what  I  value  more  than 
existence,  till  Heaven  shall  bless  our  union. 
But  I  will  stay  or  go, — I  will  live  or  die, — dis- 
pose of  me  as  you  will.  Unhappy  that  I  am! 
I  could  have  repelled  your  caresses;  but  I  can- 
not support  your  affliction. ' ' 

At  these  words,  Paul  seized  her  in  his  arms, 
and,  holding  her  pressed  close  to  his  bosom, 


128  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

said,  in  a  piercing  tone,  "I  will  go  with  her, — 
nothing  shall  ever  part  us."  We  all  ran  to- 
wards him ;  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  said  to 
him,  "My  son,  if  you  go,  what  will  become  of 
us!" 

He,  trembling,  repeated  after  her  the  words, 
— "My  son — my  son!  You  my  mother!"  cried 
he:  "you,  who  would  separate  the  brother 
from  the  sister !  We  have  both  been  nourished 
at  your  bosom;  we  have  both  been  reared 
upon  your  knees;  we  have  learnt  of  you  to 
love  one  another;  we  have  said  so  a  thousand 
times;  and  now  you  would  separate  her  from 
me ' — you  would  send  her  to  Europe,  that  in- 
hospitable country  which  refused  you  an  asy- 
lum and  to  relations  by  whom  you  yourself 
were  abandoned.  You  will  tell  me  that  I  have 
no  right  over  her,  and  that  she  is  not  my  sis- 
ter. She  is  everything  to  me ;  my  riches,  my 
birth,  my  family, — all  that  I  have!  I  know 
no  other.  We  have  had  but  one  roof, — one 
cradle, — and  we  will  have  but  one  grave !  If 
she  goes,  I  will  follow  her.  The  Governor 
will  prevent  me!  Will  he  prevent  me  from 
flinging  myself  into  the  sea? — will  he  prevent 
me  from  following  her  by  swimming?  The  sea 
cannot  be  more  fatal  to  me  than  the  land. 
Since  I  cannot  live  with  her,  at  least  I  will  die 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  129 

before  her  eyes,  far  from  you.  Inhuman 
mother! — woman  without  compassion! — may 
the  ocean  to  which  you  trust  her,  restore  her  to 
you  no  more!  May  the  waves,  rolling  back 
our  bodies  amid  the  shingles  of  this  beach, 
give  you,  in  the  loss  of  your  two  children,  an 
eternal  subject  of  remorse!" 

At  these  words,  I  seized  him  in  my  arms, 
for  despair  had  deprived  him  of  reason.  His 
eyes  sparkled  with  fire,  the  perspiration  fell  in 
great  drops  from  his  face ;  his  knees  trembled, 
and  I  felt  his  heart  beat  violently  against  his 
burning  bosom. 

Virginia,  alarmed,  said  to  him, — ''Oh,  my 
dear  PauU  I  call  to  witness  the  pleasures  of  our 
early  age,  your  griefs  and  my  own,  and  every- 
thing that  can  forever  bind  two  unfortunate 
beings  to  each  other,  that  if  I  remain  at  home, 
I  will  live  but  for  you ;  that  if  I  go,  I  will  one 
day  return  to  be  yours.  I  call  you  all  to  wit- 
ness ; — you  who  have  reared  me,  from  my  in- 
fancy, who  dispose  of  my  life,  and  who  see  my 
tears.  I  swear  by  that  Heaven  which  hears 
me,  by  the  sea  which  I  am  going  to  pass,  by 
the  air  I  breathe,  and  which  I  never  sullied  by 
a  falsehood." 

As  the  sun  softens  and  precipitates  an  icy 
rock  from  the  summit  of  one  of  the  Apen- 

9    Paul  and  Virginia 


130  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

nines,  so  the  impetuous  passions  of  the  young 
man  were  subdued  by  the  voice  of  her  he 
loved.  He  bent  his  head,  and  a  torrent  of 
tears  fell  from  his  eyes.  His  mother,  ming- 
ling her  tears  with  his,  held  him  in  her  arms, 
but  was  unable  to  speak.  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
half-distracted,  said  to  me,  "I  can  bear  this  no 
longer.  My  heart  is  quite  broken.  This  un- 
fortunate voyage  shall  not  take  place.  Do  take 
my  son  home  with  you.  Not  one  of  us  has 
had  any  rest  the  whole  week. ' ' 

I  said  to  Paul,  "My  dear  friend,  your  sister 
shall  remain  here.  To-morrow  we  will  talk  to 
the  Governor  about  it;  leave  your  family  to 
take  some  rest,  and  come  and  pass  the  night 
with  me.  It  is  late ;  it  is  midnight ;  the  south- 
ern cross  is  just  above  the  horizon. " 

He  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away  in  silence ; 
and,  after  a  night  of  great  agitation,  he  arose 
at  break  of  day,  and  returned  home. 

But  why  should  I  continue  any  longer  to  you 
the  recital  of  this  history?  There  is  but  one 
aspect  of  human  existence  which  we  can  ever 
contemplate  with  pleasure.  Like  the  globe 
upon  which  we  revolve,  the  fleeting  course  of 
life  is  but  a  day ;  and  if  one  part  of  that  day 
be  visited  by  light,  the  other  is  thrown  into 
darkness. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  131 

"My  father,"  I  answered,  "finish,  I  conjure 
you,  the  history  which  you  have  begun  in  a 
manner  so  interesting.  If  the  images  of  hap- 
piness are  the  most  pleasing,  those  of  misfor- 
tune are  the  more  instructive.  Tell  me  what 
became  of  the  unhappy  young  man. ' ' 

The  first  object  beheld  by  Paul  in  his  way 
home  was  the  negro  woman  Mary,  who, 
mounted  on  a  rock,  was  earnestly  looking 
towards  the  sea.  As  soon  as  he  perceived 
her.  he  called  to  her  from  a  distance, — "Where 
is  Virginia?"  Mary  turned  her  head  towards 
her  young  master,  and  began  to  weep.  Paul, 
distracted,  retracing  his  steps,  ran  to  the  bar- 
bor.  He  was  informed  that  Virginia  had 
embarked  at  the  break  of  day,  and  that  the 
vessel  had  immediately  set  sail,  and  was  now 
out  of  sight.  He  instantly  returned  to  the 
plantation,  which  he  crossed  without  uttering 
a  word. 

Quite  perpendicular  as  appears  the  walls  of 
Crocks  behind  us,  those  green  platforms  which 
separate  their  summits  are  so  many  stages,  by 
-means  of  which  you  may  reach  through  some 
difficult  paths,  that  cone  of  sloping  and  inac- 
cessible rocks,  which  is  called  The  Thumb. 
At  the  foot  of  that  cone  is  an  extended  slope 
of  ground,  covered  with  lofty  trees,  and  so  steep 


132  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

and  elevated  that  it  looks  like  a  forest  in  the 
air,  surrounded  by  tremendous  precipices. 
The  clouds,  which  are  constantly  attracted 
round  the  summit  of  The  Thumb,  supply 
innumerable  rivulets,  which  fall  to  so  great  a 
depth  in  the  valley  situated  on  the  other  side 
of  the  mountain,  that  from  this  elevated  point 
the  sound  of  their  cataracts  cannot  be  heard. 
From  that  spot  you  can  discern  a  considerable 
part  of  the  island,  diversified  by  precipices  and 
mountain  peaks,  and  amongst  others,  Peter- 
Booth,  and  the  Three  Breasts,  with  their  val- 
leys full  of  woods.  You  also  command  an 
extensive  view  of  the  ocean,  and  can  even  per- 
ceive the  Isle  of  Bourbon,  forty  leagues  to  the 
westward.  From  the  summit  of  that  stupend- 
ous pile  of  rocks  Paul  caught  sight  of  the  vessel 
which  was  bearing  away  Virginia,  and  which 
now,  ten  leagues  out  at  sea,  appeared  like  a 
black  spot  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean.  He 
remained  a  great  part  of  the  day  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  this  object:  when  it  disappeared, 
he  still  fancied  he  beheld  it;  and  when,  at 
length,  the  traces  which  clung  to  his  imagina- 
tion were  lost  in  the  mists  of  the  horizon,  he 
seated  himself  on  that  wild  point,  forever 
beaten  by  the  winds,  which  never  cease  to 
agitate  the  tops  of  the  cabbage  and  gum-trees, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  133 

and  the  hoarse  and  moaning  murmurs  of 
which,  similar  to  the  distant  sound  of  organs, 
inspire  a  profound  melancholy.  On  this  spot 
I  found  him,  his  head  reclining  on  the  rock, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground.  I  had  fol- 
lowed him  from  the  earliest  dawn,  and,  after 
much  importunity,  I  prevailed  on  him  to 
descend  from  the  heights,  and  return  to  his 
family.  I  went  home  with  him,  where  the 
first  impulse  of  his  mind,  on  seeing  Madame  de 
la  Tour,  was  to  reproach  her  bitterly  for  having 
deceived  him.  She  told  us  that  a  favorable 
wind  having  sprung  up  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  the  vessel  being  ready  to  sail, 
the  Governor,  attended  by  some  of  his  staff  and 
the  missionary,  had  come  with  a  palanquin  to 
fetch  her  daughter ;  and  that,  notwithstanding 
Virginia's  objections,  her  own  tears  and 
entreaties,  and  the  lamentations  of  Margaret, 
everybody  exclaiming  all  the  time  that  it  was 
for  the  general  welfare,  they  had  carried  her 
away  almost  dying.  "At  least,"  cried  Paul, 
"if  I  had  bid  her  farewell,  I  should  now  be 
more  calm.  I  would  have  said  to  her, — 'Vir- 
ginia, if,  during  the  time  we  have  lived 
together,  one  word  may  have  escaped  me 
which  has  offended  you,  before  you  leave  me 
forever,  tell  me  that  you  forgive  me. '  I  would 


134  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

have  said  to  her, — 'Since  I  am  destined  to  see 
you  no  more,  farewell,  my  dear  Virginia,  fare- 
well !  Live  far  from  me  contented  and  happy!'  ' 
When  he  saw  that  his  mother  and  Madame  de 
la  Tour  were  weeping, — "You  must  now,"  said 
he,  "seek  some  other  hand  to  wipe  away  your 
tears;"  and  then,  rushing  out  of  the  house, 
and  groaning  aloud,  he  wandered  up  and  down 
the  plantation.  He  hovered  in  particular 
about  those  spots  which  had  been  most  endear- 
ing to  Virginia.  He  said  to  the  goats,  and 
their  little  ones,  which  followed  him  bleating, 
— "What  do  you  want  of  me?  You  will  see 
with  me  no  more  her  who  used  to  feed  you 
with  her  own  hand."  He  went  to  the  bower 
called  Virginia's  Resting-place  and,  as  the 
birds  flew  around  him,  exclaimed,  "Poor  birds! 
you  will  fly  no  more  to  meet  her  who  cherished 
you!" — and  observing  Fidele  running  back- 
wards and  forwards  in  search  of  her,  he  heaved 
a  deep  sigh,  and  cried, — "Ah!  you  will  never 
find  her  again. ' '  At  length  he  went  and  seated 
himself  upon  a  rock  where  he  had  conversed 
with  her  the  preceding  evening;  and  at  the 
sight  of  the  ocean  upon  which  he  had  seen  the 
vessel  disappear  which  had  borne  her  away,  his 
heart  overflowed  with  anguish,  and  he  wept 
bitterly. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  135 

We  continually  watched  his  movements, 
apprehensive  of  some  fatal  consequence  from 
the  violent  agitation  of  his  mind.  His  mother 
and  Madame  de  la  Tour  conjured  him,  in  the 
most  tender  manner,  not  to  increase  their 
affliction  by  his  despair.  At  length  the  latter 
soothed  his  mind  by  lavishing  upon  him  epithets 
calculated  to  awaken  his  hopes, — calling  him 
her  son,  her  dear  son,  her  son-in-law,  whom 
she  destined  for  her  daughter.  She  persuaded 
him  to  return  home,  and  to  take  some  food. 
He  seated  himself  next  to  the  place  which  used 
to  be  occupied  by  the  companion  of  his  child- 
hood; and,  as  if  she  had  still  been  present,  he 
spoke  to  her,  and  made  as  though  he  would 
offer  her  whatever  he  knew  was  most  agreeable 
to  her  taste:  then,  starting  from  this  dream 
of  fancy,  he  began  to  weep.  For  some  days 
he  employed  himself  in  gathering  every  thing 
which  had  belonged  to  Virginia,  the  last  nose- 
gays she  had  worn,  the  cocoa- shell  from  which 
she  used  to  drink ;  and  after  kissing  a  thousand 
times  these  relics  of  his  beloved,  to  him  the 
most  precious  treasures  which  the  world  con- 
tained, he  hid  them  in  his  bosom.  Amber  does 
not  shed  so  sweet  a  perfume  as  the  veriest  trifles 
touched  by  those  we  love.  At  length,  perceiv- 
ing that  the  indulgence  of  his  grief  increased 


136  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

that  of  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour,  and 
that  the  wants  of  the  family  demanded  contin- 
ual labor,  he  began,  with  the  assistance  of  Do- 
mingo, to  repair  the  damage  done  to  the 
garden. 

But,  soon  after,  this  young  man,  hitherto 
indifferent  as  a  Creole  to  everything  that  was 
passing  in  the  world,  begged  of  me  to  teach 
him  to  read  and  write,  in  order  that  he  might 
correspond  with  Virginia.  He  afterwards 
wished  to  obtain  a  knowledge  of  geography, 
that  he  might  form  some  idea  of  the  country 
where  she  would  disembark;  and  of  history, 
that  he  might  know  something  of  the  manners 
of  the  society  in  which  she  would  be  placed. 
The  powerful  sentiment  of  love,  which  directed 
his  present  studies,  had  already  instructed  him 
in  agriculture,  and  in  the  art  of  laying  out 
grounds  with  advantage  and  beauty.  It  must 
be  admitted,  that  to  the  fond  dreams  of  this 
restless  and  ardent  passion,  mankind  are 
indebted  for  most  of  the  arts  and  sciences, 
while  its  disappointments  have  given  birth  to 
philosophy,  which  teaches  us  to  bear  up  under 
misfortune.  Love,  thus,  the  general  link  of  all 
beings,  becomes  the  great  spring  of  society,  by 
inciting  us  to  knowledge  as  well  as  to  pleasure. 

Paul  found  little  satisfaction  in  the  study  of 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  131 

geography,  which,  instead  of  describing  the 
natural  history  of  each  country,  gave  only  a 
view  of  its  political  divisions  and  boundaries. 
History,  and  especially  modern  history,  inter- 
ested him  little  more.  He  there  saw  only  gen- 
eral and  periodical  evils,  the  causes  of  which 
he  could  not  discover;  wars  without  either 
motive  or  reason;  uninteresting  intrigues; 
with  nations  destitute  of  principle,  and  princes 
void  of  humanity.  To  this  branch  of  reading 
he  preferred  romances,  which,  being  chiefly 
occupied  by  the  feelings  and  concerns  of  men, 
sometimes  represented  situations  similar  to  his 
own.  Thus,  no  book  gave  him  so  much  pleas- 
ure as  Telemachus,  from  the  pictures  it  draws 
of  pastoral  life,  and  of  the  passions  which  are 
most  natural  to  the  human  breast.  He  read 
aloud  to  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour 
those  parts  which  affected  him  most  sensibly; 
but  sometimes,  touched  by  the  most  tender 
remembrances,  his  emotion  would  choke  his 
utterance,  and  his  eyes  be  filled  with  tears. 
He  fancied  he  had  found  in  Virginia  the  dig- 
nity and  wisdom  of  Antiope,  united  to  the 
misfortunes  and  the  tenderness  of  Eucharis. 
With  very  different  sensations  he  perused  our 
fashionable  novels,  filled  with  licentious  morals 
and  maxims,  and  when  he  was  informed  that 


138  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

these  works  drew  a  tolerably  faithful  picture  of 
European  society,  he  trembled,  and  not  without 
some  appearance  of  reason,  lest  Virginia  should 
become  corrupted  by  it,  and  forget  him. 

More  than  a  year  and  a  half,  indeed,  passed 
away  before  Madame  de  la  Tour  received  any 
tidings  of  her  aunt  or  her  daughter.  During 
that  period  she  only  accidentally  heard  that 
Virginia  had  safely  arrived  in  France.  At 
length,  however,  a  vessel  which  stopped  here 
on  its  way  to  the  Indies  brought  a  packet  to 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  and  a  letter  written  by 
Virginia's  own  hand.  Although  this  amiable 
and  considerate  girl  had  written  in  a  guarded 
manner  that  she  might  not  wound  her  mother's 
feelings,  it  appeared  evident  enough  that  she 
was  unhappy.  The  letter  painted  so  naturally 
her  situation  and  her  character,  that  I  have  re- 
tained it  almost  word  for  word. 

"My  dear  and  beloved  Mother, 

"I  have  already  sent  you  several  letters, 
written  by  my  own  hand,  but  having  received 
no  answer,  I  am  afraid  they  have  not  reached 
you.  I  have  better  hopes  for  this,  from  the 
means  I  have  now  gained  of  sending  you  tid- 
ings of  myself,  and  of  hearing  from  you. 

"I  have  shed  many  tears  since  our  separa- 
tion, I  who  never  used  to  weep,  but  for  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  139 

misfortunes  of  others!  My  aunt  was  much 
astonished,  when,  having,  upon  my  arrival,  in- 
quired what  accomplishments  I  possessed,  I 
told  her  that  I  could  neither  read  nor  write. 
She  asked  me  what  then  I  had  learnt,  since  I 
came  into  the  world;  and  when  I  answered 
that  I  had  been  taught  to  take  care  of  the 
household  affairs,  and  to  obey  your  will,  she 
told  me  that  I  had  received  the  education  of  a 
servant.  The  next  day  she  placed  me  as  a 
boarder  in  a  great  abbey  near  Paris,  where  I 
have  masters  of  all  kinds,  who  teach  me  among 
other  things,  history,  geography,  grammar, 
mathematics,  and  riding  on  horseback.  But  I 
have  so  little  capacity  for  all  these  sciences, 
that  I  fear  I  shall  make  but  small  progress 
with  my  masters.  I  feel  that  I  am  a  very  poor 
creature,  with  very  little  ability  to  learn  what 
they  teach.  My  aunt's  kindness,  however,  does 
not  decrease.  She  gives  me  new  dresses  every 
season;  and  she  has  placed  two  waiting  women 
with  me,  who  are  dressed  like  fine  ladies.  She 
has  made  me  take  the  title  of  countess;  but  has 
obliged  me  to  renounce  the  name  of  La  Tour, 
which  is  as  dear  to  me  as  it  is  to  you,  from  all 
you  have  told  me  of  the  sufferings  my  father 
endured  in  order  to  marry  you.  She  has  given 
me  in  place  of  your  name  that  of  vour  family, 


140  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

which  is  also  dear  to  me,  because  it  was  your 
name  when  a  girl.  Seeing  myself  in  so  splen- 
did a  situation,  I  implored  her  to  let  me  send 
you  something  to  assist  you.  But  how  shall  I 
repeat  her.  answer !  Yet  you  have  desired  me 
always  to  tell  you  the  truth.  She  told  me  then 
that  a  little  would  be  of  no  use  to  you,  and 
that  a  great  deal  would  only  encumber  you  in 
the  simple  life  you  led.  As  you  know  I  could 
not  write,  I  endeavored  upon  my  arrival,  to 
send  you  tidings  of  myself  by  another  hand ; 
but,  finding  no  person  here  in  whom  I  could 
place  confidence,  I  applied  night  and  day  to 
learn  to  read  and  write,  and  Heaven,  who  saw 
my  motive  for  learning,  no  doubt  assisted  my 
endeavors,  for  I  succeeded  in  both  for  a  short 
time.  I  entrusted  my  first  letters  to  some  of 
the  ladies  here,  who,  I  have  reason  to  think, 
carried  them  to  my  aunt.  This  time  I  have 
recourse  to  a  boarder,  who  is  my  friend.  I 
send  you  her  direction,  by  means  of  which  I 
shall  receive  your  answer.  My  aunt  has  forbid 
me  holding  any  correspondence  whatever,  with 
any  one,  lest,  she  says,  it  should  occasion  an 
obstacle  to  the  great  views  she  has  for  my  ad- 
vantage. No  person  is  allowed  to  see  me  at 
the  grate  but  herself,  and  an  old  nobleman, 
one  of  her  friends,  who,  she  says,  is  much 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  141 

pleased  with  me.  I  am  sure  I  am  not  at  all  so 
with  him,  nor  should  I,  even  if  it  were  possible 
for  me  to  be  pleased  with  any  one  at  present. 
"I  live  in  all  the  splendor  of  affluence,  and 
have  not  a  sou  at  my  disposal.  They  say  I 
might  make  an  improper  use  of  money.  Even 
my  clothes  belong  to  my  femmes  de  chambre, 
who  quarrel  about  them  before  I  have  left  them 
off.  In  the  midst  of  riches  I  am  poorer  than 
when  I  lived  with  you ;  for  I  have  nothing  to 
give  away.  When  I  found  that  the  great  ac- 
complishments they  taught  me  would  not  pro- 
cure me  the  power  of  doing  the  smallest  good, 
I  had  recourse  to  my  needle,  of  which  happily 
you  had  taught  me  the  use.  I  send  several 
pairs  of  stockings  of  my  own  making  for  you 
and  my  mamma  Margaret,  a  cap  for  Domingo, 
and  one  of  my  red  handkerchiefs  for  Mary.  I 
also  send  with  this  packet  some  kernels,  and 
seeds  of  various  kinds  of  fruits  which  I  gath- 
ered in  the  abbey  park  during  my  hours  of  rec- 
reation. I  have  also  sent  a  few  seeds  of  violets, 
daisies,  buttercups,  poppies  and  scabious, 
which  I  picked  up  in  the  fields.  There  are 
much  more  beautiful  flowers  in  the  meadows  of 
this  country  than  in  ours,  but  nobody  cares  for 
them.  I  am  sure  that  you  and  my  mamma 
Margaret  will  be  better  pleased  with  this  bag 


142  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

of  seeds,  than  you  were  with  the  bag  of  pias- 
tres, which  was  the  cause  of  our  separation  and 
of  my  tears.  It  will  give  me  great  delight  if 
you  should  one  day  see  apple-trees  growing  by 
the  side  of  our  plantains,  and  elms  blending 
their  foliage  with  that  of  our  cocoa-trees.  You 
will  fancy  yourself  in  Normandy,  which  you 
love  so  much. 

"You  desired  me  to  relate  to  you  my  joys 
and  my  griefs.  I  have  no  joys  far  from  you. 
As  for  my  griefs,  I  endeavor  to  soothe  them 
by  reflecting  that  I  am  in  the  situation  in  which 
it  was  the  will  of  God  that  you  should  place 
me.  But  my  greatest  affliction  is,  that  no  one 
here  speaks  to  me  of  you,  and  that  I  cannot 
speak  of  you  to  any  one.  My  femmes  de 
chambre,  or  rather  those  of  my  aunt,  for  they 
belong  more  to  her  than  to  me,  told  me  the 
other  day,  when  I  wished  to  turn  the  conver- 
sation upon  the  objects  most  dear  to  me:  'Re- 
member, mademoiselle,  that  you  are  a  French 
woman,  and  must  forget  that  land  of  savages. ' 
Ah!  sooner  will  I  forget  myself,  than  forget 
the  spot  on  which  I  was  born  and  where  you 
dwell !  It  is  this  country  which  is  to  me  a  land 
of  savages,  for  I  live  alone,  having  no  one  to 
whom  I  can  impart  those  feelings,  of  tenderness 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  143 

for  you  which  I  shall  bear  with  me  to  the  grave. 
I  am, 

"My  dearest  and  beloved  mother, 
"Your  affectionate  and  dutiful  daughter, 

"Virginie  de  la  Tour. " 

"I  recommend  to  your  goodness  Mary  and 
Domingo,  who  took  so  much  care  of  my  in- 
fancy ;  caress  Fidele  for  me,  who  found  me  in 
the  wood. ' ' 

Paul  was  astonished  that  Virginia  had  not 
said  one  word  of  him, — she,  who  had  not  for- 
gotten even  the  house-dog.  But  he  was  not 
aware  that,  however  long  a  woman's  letter 
may  be,  she  never  fails  to  leave  her  dearest 
sentiments  for  the  end. 

In  a  postscript,  Virginia  particularly  recom- 
mended to  Paul's  attention  two  kinds  of  seed, 
— those  of  the  violet  and  the  scabious.  She 
gave  him  some  instructions  upon  the  natural 
characters  of  these  flowers,  and  the  spots  most 
proper  for  their  cultivation.  "The  violet,"  she 
Said,  "produces  a  little  flower  of  a  dark  purple 
color,  which  delights  to  conceal  itself  beneath 
the  bushes;  but  it  is  soon  discovered  by  its 
wide-spreading  perfume."  She  desired  that 
these  seeds  might  be  sown  by  the  border  of 
the  fountain,  at  the  foot  of  her  cocoa- tree. 
"The  scabious,"  she  added,  "produces  a  beau- 


144  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

tiful  flower  of  a  pale  blue,  and  a  black  ground 
spotted  with  white.  You  might  fancy  it  was 
in  mourning;  and  for  this  reason  it  is  also 
called  the  widow's  flower.  It  grows  best  in 
bleak  spots,  beaten  by  the  winds. ' '  She  beg- 
ged him  to  sow  this  upon  the  rock  where  she 
had  spoken  to  him  at  night  for  the  last  time, 
and  that,  in  remembrance  of  her,  he  would 
henceforth  give  it  the  name  of  the  Rock  of 
Adieus. 

She  had  put  these  seeds  into  a  little  purse, 
the  tissue  of  which  was  exceedingly  simple; 
but  which  appeared  above  all  price  to  Paul, 
when  he  saw  on  it  a  P  and  a  V  entwined  to- 
gether, and  knew  that  the  beautiful  hair  which 
formed  the  cypher  was  the  hair  of  Virginia. 

The  whole  family  listened  with  tears  to  the 
reading  of  the  letter  of  this  amiable  and  virtu- 
ous girl.  Her  mother  answered  it  in  the  name 
of  the  little  society,  desiring  her  to  remain  or 
return  as  she  thought  proper:  and  assuring 
her,  that  happiness  had  left  their  dwelling  since 
her  departure,  and  that,  for  herself,  she  was 
inconsolable. 

Paul  also  sent  her  a  very  long  letter,  in  which 
he  assured  her  that  he  would  arrange  the  garden 
in  a  manner  agreeable  to  her  taste,  and  mingle 
together  in  it  the  plants  of  Europe  with  those 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  145 

of  Africa,  as  she  had  blended  their  initials  to- 
gether in  her  work.  He  sent  her  some  fruit 
from  the  cocoa-trees  of  the  fountain,  now  ar- 
rived at  maturity ;  telling  her,  that  he  would 
not  add  any  of  the  other  productions  of  the 
island,  that  the  desire  of  seeing  them  again 
might  hasten  her  return.  He  conjured  her  to 
comply  as  soon  as  possible  with  the  ardent 
wishes  of  her  family,  and,  above  all,  with  his 
own,  since  he  could  never  hereafter  taste  hap- 
piness away  from  her. 

Paul  sowed  with  a  careful  hand  the  Euro- 
pean seeds,  particularly  the  violet  and  the  sca- 
bious, the  flowers  of  which  seemed  to  bear 
some  analogy  to  the  character  and  present  sit- 
uation of  Virginia,  by  whom  they  had  been  so 
especially  recommended ;  but  either  they  were 
dried  up  in  the  voyage,  or  the  climate  of  this 
part  of  the  world  is  unfavorable  to  their 
growth,  for  a  very  small  number  of  them  even 
came  up,  and  not  one  arrived  at  full  perfection. 

In  the  meantime,  envy,  which  ever  comes  to 
embitter  human  happiness,  particularly  in  the 
"French  colonies,  spread  some  reports  in  the 
island  which  gave  Paul  much  uneasiness.  The 
passengers  in  the  vessel  which  brought  Vir- 
ginia's letter,  asserted  that  she  was  upon  the 
point  of  being  married,  and  named  the  noble- 

10   Paul  and  Virginia 


146  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA, 

man  of  the  court  to  whom  she  was  engaged. 
Some  even  went  so  far  as  to  declare  that  the 
union  had  already  taken  place,  and  that  they 
themselves  had  witnessed  the  ceremony.  Paul 
at  first  despised  the  report,  brought  by  a  mer- 
chant vessel,  as  he  knew  that  they  often  spread 
erroneous  intelligence  in  their  passage;  but 
some  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  island,  with 
malignant  pity,  affecting  to  bewail  the  event, 
he  was  soon  led  to  attach  some  degree  of  belief 
to  this  cruel  intelligence.  Besides,  in  some  of 
the  novels  he  had  lately  read,  he  had  seen  that 
perfidy  was  treated  as  a  subject  of  pleasantry ; 
and  knowing  that  these  books  contained  pretty 
faithful  representations  of  European  manners, 
he  feared  that  the  heart  of  Virginia  was  cor- 
rupted, and  had  forgotten  its  former  engage- 
ments. Thus  his  new  acquirements  had  already 
only  served  to  render  him  more  miserable ;  and 
his  apprehensions  were  much  increased  by  the 
circumstance,  that  though  several  ships  touched 
here  from  Europe,  within  the  six  months  im- 
mediately following  the  arrival  of  her  letter, 
not  one  of  them  brought  any  tidings  of  Vir- 
ginia. 

This  unfortunate  young  man,  with  a  heart 
torn  by  the  most  cruel  agitation,  often  came  to 
visit  me,  in  the  hope  of  confirming  or  banishing 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  147 

his  uneasiness,  by  my  experience  of  the 
world. 

I  live,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  a  league 
and  a  half  from  this  point,  upon  the  banks  of 
a  little  river  which  glides  along  the  Sloping 
Mountain :  there  I  lead  a  solitary  life,  without 
wife,  children,  or  slaves. 

After  having  enjoyed,  and  lost  the  rare 
felicity  of  living  with  a  congenial  mind,  the 
state  of  life  which  appears  the  least  wretched 
is  doubtless  that  of  solitude.  Every  man  who 
has  much  cause  of  complaint  against  his  fellow- 
creatures  seeks  to  be  alone.  It  is  also  remarkable 
that  all  those  nations  which  have  been  brought 
to  wretchedness  by  their  opinions,  their  man- 
ners, or  their  forms  of  government,  have  pro- 
duced numerous  classes  of  citizens  altogether 
devoted  to  solitude  and  celibacy.  Such  were 
the  Egyptians  in  their  decline,  and  the  Greeks 
of  the  Lower  Empire ;  and  such  in  our  days 
are  the  Indians,  the  Chinese,  the  modern 
Greeks,  the  Italians,  and  the  greater  part  of 
the  eastern  and  southern  nations  of  Europe. 
•  Solitude,  by  removing  men  from  the  miseries 
which  follow  in  the  train  of  social  intercourse, 
brings  them  in  some  degree  back  to  the  unso- 
phisticated enjoyment  of  nature.  In  the  midst 
of  modern  society,  broken  up  by  innumerable 


148  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

prejudices,  the  mind  is  in  a  constant  turmoil  of 
agitation.  It  is  incessantly  revolving  in  itself 
a  thousand  tumultuous  and  contradictory  opin- 
ions, by  which  the  members  of  an  ambitious 
and  miserable  circle  seek  to  raise  themselves 
above  each  other.  But  in  solitude  the  soul  lays 
aside  the  morbid  illusions  which  troubled  her, 
and  resumes  the  pure  consciousness  of  herself, 
of  nature,  and  of  its  Author,  as  the  muddy 
water  of  a  torrent  which  has  ravaged  the 
plains,  coming  to  rest,  and  diffusing  itself  over 
some  low  grounds  out  of  its  course,  deposits 
there  the  slime  it  has  taken  up,  and  resuming 
its  wonted  transparency,  reflects,  with  its  own 
shores,  the  verdure  of  the  earth  and  the  light 
of  heaven.  Thus  does  solitude  recruit  the 
powers  of  the  body  as  well  as  those  of  the  mind. 
It  is  among  hermits  that  are  found  the  men 
who  carry  human  existence  to  its  extreme 
limits;  such  are  the  Bramins  of  India.  In 
brief,  I  consider  solitude  so  necessary  to  happi- 
ness, even  in  the  world  itself,  that  it  appears 
to  me  impossible  to  derive  lasting  pleasure 
from  any  pursuit  whatever,  or  to  regulate  our 
conduct  by  any  stable  principle,  if  we  do  not 
create  for  ourselves  a  mental  void,  whence  our 
own  views  rarely  emerge,  and  into  which  the 
opinions  of  others  never  enter.  I  do  not  mean 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  149 

to  say  that  man  ought  to  live  absolutely  alone ; 
he  is  connected  by  his  necessities  with  all  man- 
kind ;  his  labors  are  due  to  man :  and  he  owes 
something  too.to  the  rest  of  nature.  But,  as  God 
has  given  to  each  of  us  organs  perfectly  adapted 
to  the  elements  of  the  globe  on  which  we 
live, — feet  for  the  soil,  lungs  for  the  air,  eyes 
for  the  light,  without  power  of  changing  the 
use  of  any  of  these  faculties,  he  has  reserved 
for  himself,  as  the  Author  of  life,  that  which 
is  its  chief  organ, — the  heart. 

I  thus  passed  my  days  far  from  mankind, 
whom  I  wished  to  serve,  and  by  whom  I  have 
been  persecuted.  After  having  traveled  over 
many  countries  of  Europe,  and  some  parts  of 
America  and  Africa,  I  at  length  pitched  my 
tent  in  this  thinly  peopled  island,  allured  by  its 
mild  climate  and  its  solitudes.  A  cottage 
which  I  built  in  the  woods,  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree,  a  little  field  which  I  cleared  with  my  own 
hands,  a  river  which  glides  before  my  door, 
^suffice  for  my  wants  and  for  my  pleasures.  I 
blend  with  these  enjoyments  the  perusal  of 
some  chosen  books,  which  teach  me  to  become 
better.  They  make  that  world,  which  I  have 
abandoned,  still  contribute  something  to  my 
happiness.  They  lay  before  me  pictures  of 
those  passions  which  render  its  inhabitants  so 


150  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

miserable ;  and  in  the  comparison  I  am  thus  led 
to  make  between  their  lot  and  my  own,  I  feel  a 
kind  of  negative  enjoyment.    Like  a  man  saved 
from  a  shipwreck,  and  thrown  upon  a  rock,  I 
contemplate,   from    my  solitude,   the  storms 
which  rage  through  the  rest  of  the  world;  and 
my  repose  seems  more  profound  from  the  dis- 
tant sound  of  the    tempest.      As  men  have 
ceased  to  fall  in  my  way;  I  no  longer  view 
them  with  aversion;   I  only    pity  them.     If 
I    sometimes    fall    in    with    an    unfortunate 
being,  I  try  to  help  him  by  my  counsels,  as  a 
passer-by  on  the  brink  of  a  torrent  extends  his 
hand  to  save  a  wretch  from  drowning.      But  I 
have  hardly    ever    found    but    the    innocent 
attentive  to  my  voice.     Nature  calls  the  major- 
ity of  men  to  her  in  vain.     Each  of  them  forms 
an  image  of  her  for  himself,  and  invests  her 
with  his  own  passions.      He  pursues  during 
the  whole  of  his  life  this  vain  phantom,  which 
leads  him  astray;  and  he  afterwards  complains 
to  Heaven  of  the  misfortunes  which  he  has 
thus  created  for  himself.      Among  the  many 
children  of  misfortune  whom  I  have  endeav- 
ored to  lead  back  to  the  enjoyments  of  nature, 
I  have  not  found  one  but  was  intoxicated  with 
his  own  miseries.     They  have  listened  to  me  at 
first  with  attention,  in  the  hope  that  I  could 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  151 

teach  them  how  to  acquire  glory  or  fortune, 
but  when  they  found  that  I  only  wished  to 
instruct  them  how  to  dispense  with  these  chi- 
meras, their  attention  has  been  converted  into 
pity,  because  I  did  not  prize  their  miserable 
happiness.     They  blamed  my  solitary  life ;  they 
alleged  that  they  alone  were  useful  to  men,  and 
they  endeavored  to  draw  me  into  their  vortex. 
But  if  I  communicate  with  all,  I  lay  myself 
open  to  none.      It  is  often  sufficient  for  me  to 
serve  as  a  lesson  to  myself.     In  my  present 
tranquility,  I  pass  in  review  the  agitating  pur- 
suits of  my  past  life,   to  which   I   formerly 
attached  so  much  value, — patronage,  fortune, 
reputation,  pleasure,  and  the  opinions  which 
are  ever  at  strife  over  all  the  earth.      I  com- 
pare the  men  whom  I  have  seen  disputing  furi- 
ously over  these  vanities,  and  who  are  no  more, 
to  the  tiny  waves  of  my  rivulet,  which  break 
in  foam  against  its  rocky  bed,  and  disappear, 
never  to  return.     As  for  me,  I  suffer  myself  to 
float  calmly  down  the  stream  of  time  to  the 
shoreless  ocean  of  futurity ;  while,  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  present  harmony  of  nature, 
I  elevate  my  soul  towards  its  supreme  Author, 
and  hope  for  a  more  happy  lot  in  another  state 
of  existence. 

Although  you  cannot  descry  from  my  her- 


152  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

mitage,  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  forest,  that 
immense  variety  of  objects  which  this  elevated 
spot  presents,  the  grounds  are  disposed  with 
peculiar  beauty,  at  least  to  one  who,  like  me, 
prefers  the  seclusion  of  a  home  scene  to  great 
and  extensive  prospects.  The  river  which 
glides  before  my  door  passes  in  a  straight  line 
across  the  woods,  looking  like  a  long  canal 
shaded  by  all  kinds  of  trees.  Among  them  are 
the  gum  tree,  the  ebony  tree,  and  that  which 
is  here  called  bois  de  pomme,  with  olive  and 
cinnamon-wood  trees;  while  in  some  parts  the 
cabbage-palm  trees  raise  their  naked  stems 
more  than  a  hundred  feet  high,  their  summits 
crowned  with  a  cluster  of  leaves,  and  towering 
above  the  woods  like  one  forest  piled  upon 
another.  Lianas,  of  various  foliage,  intertwin- 
ing themselves  among  the  trees,  form,  here, 
arcades  of  foliage,  there,  long  canopies  of 
verdure.  Most  of  these  trees  shed  aromatic 
odors  so  powerful,  that  the  garments  of  a 
traveler,  who  has  passed  through  the  forest, 
often  retain  for  hours  the  most  delicious 
fragrance.  In  the  season  when  they  produce 
their  lavish  blossoms,  they  appear  as  if  half- 
covered  with  snow.  Towards  the  end  of  sum- 
mer, various  kinds  of  foreign  birds  hasten, 
impelled  by  some  inexplicable  instinct,  from 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  153 

unknown  regions  on  the  other  side  of  immense 
oceans,  to  feed  upon  the  grain  and  other  veg- 
etable productions  of  the  island ;  and  the  bril- 
liancy of  their  plumage  forms  a  striking  con- 
trast to  the  more  somber  tints  of  the  foliage, 
embrowned  by  the  sun.  Among  these  are  var- 
ious kinds  of  paroquets,  and  the  blue  pigeon, 
called  here  the  pigeon  of  Holland.  Monkeys, 
the  domestic  inhabitants  of  our  forests,  sport 
upon  the  dark  branches  of  the  trees,  from 
which  they  are  easily  distinguished  by  their 
gray  and  greenish  skin,  and  their  black  visages. 
Some  hang,  suspended  by  the  tail,  and  swing 
themselves  in  air;  others  leap  from  branch  to 
branch,  bearing  their  young  in  their  arms. 
The  murderous  gun  has  never  affrighted  these 
peaceful  children  of  nature.  You  hear  noth- 
ing but  sounds  of  joy, — the  warblings  and 
unknown  notes  of  birds  from  the  countries  of 
the  south,  repeated  from  a  distance  by  the 
echoes  of  the  forest.  The  river,  which  pours, 
in  foaming  eddies,  over  a  bed  of  rocks,  through 
the  midst  of  the  woods,  reflects  here  and  there 
upon  its  limpid  waters  their  venerable  masses 
of  verdure  and  of  shade,  along  with  the  sports 
of  their  happy  inhabitants.  About  a  thousand 
paces  from  thence  it  forms  several  cascades, 
clear  as  crystal  in  their  fall,  but  broken  at  the 


154  1>AUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

bottom  into  frothy  surges.  Innumerable  con- 
fused sounds  issue  from  these  watery  tumults, 
which,  borne  by  the  winds  across  the  forest, 
now  sink  in  distance,  now  all  at  once  swell  out, 
booming  on  the  ear  like  the  bells  of  a  cathe- 
dral. The  air,  kept  ever  in  motion  by  the  run- 
ning water,  preserves  upon  the  banks  of  the 
river,  amid  all  the  summer  heats,  a  freshness 
and  verdure  rarely  found  in  this  island,  even 
on  the  summits  of  the  mountains. 

At  some  distance  from  this  place  is  a  rock, 
placed  far  enough  from  the  cascade  to  prevent 
the  ear  from  being  deafened  with  the  noise  of 
its  waters,  and  sufficiently  near  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  seeing  it,  of  feeling  its  coolness,  and 
hearing  its  gentle  murmurs.  Thither,  amidst 
the  heats  of  summer,  Madame  de  la  Tour, 
Margaret,  Virginia,  Paul  and  myself,  some- 
times repaired,  to  dine  beneath  the  shadow  of 
this  rock.  Virginia,  who  always,  in  her  most 
ordinary  actions,  was  mindful  of  the  good  of 
others,  never  ate  of  any  fruit  in  the  fields  with- 
out planting  the  seed  or  kernel  in  the  ground. 
"From  this,"  said  she,  "trees  will  come,  which 
will  yield  their  fruit  to  some  traveler,  or  at 
least  to  some  bird."  One  day,  having  eaten  of 
the  papaw  fruit  at  the  foot  of  that  rock,  she 
planted  the  seeds  on  the  spot.  Soon  after,  sev- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  155 

eral  papaw  trees  sprang  up,  among  which  was 
one  with  female  blossoms,  that  is  to  say,  a 
fruit-bearing  tree.  This  tree  at  the  time  of 
Virginia's  departure,  was  scarcely  as  high  as 
her  knee ;  but,  as  it  is  a  plant  of  rapid  growth 
in  the  course  of  two  years  it  had  gained  the 
height  of  twenty  feet,  and  the  upper  part  of 
its  stem  was  encircled  by  several  rows  of  ripe 
fruit.  Paul,  wandering  accidentally  to  the 
spot,  was  struck  with  delight  at  seeing  this 
lofty  tree,  which  had  been  planted  by  his 
beloved;  but  the  emotion  was  transient,  and 
instantly  gave  place  to  a  deep  melancholy,  at 
this  evidence  of  her  long  absence.  The  objects 
which  are  habitually  before  us  do  not  bring  to 
our  minds  an  adequate  idea  of  the  rapidity  of 
life;  they  decline  insensibly  with  ourselves: 
but  it  is  those  we  behold  again,  after  having 
for  some  years  lost  sight  of  them,  that  most 
powerfully  impress  us  with  a  feeling  of  the 
swiftness  with  which  the  tide  of  life  flows  on. 
Paul  was  no  less  overwhelmed  and  affected  at 
the  sight  of  this  great  papaw  tree,  loaded  with 
fruit,  than  is  the  traveler  when,  after  a  long 
absence  from  his  own  country,  he  finds  his  con- 
temporaries no  more,  but  their  children,  whom 
he  left  at  the  breast,  themselves  now  become 
fathers  of  families.  Paul  sometimes  thought 


156  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

of  cutting  down  the  tree,  which  recalled  to 
sensibility  the  distracting  remembrance  of  Vir- 
ginia's prolonged  absence.  At  other  times, 
contemplating  it  as  a  monument  of  her  benev- 
olence, he  kissed  its  trunk,  and  apostrophized 
it  in  terms  of  the  most  passionate  regret. 
Indeed,  I  have  myself  gazed  upon  it  with  more 
emotion  and  more  veneration  than  upon  the 
triumphal  arches  of  Rome.  May  nature, 
which  every  day  destroys  the  monuments  of 
kingly  ambition,  multiply  in  our  forests  those 
which  testify  the  beneficence  of  a  poor  young 
girl! 

At  the  foot  of  this  papaw  tree  I  was  always 
sure  to  meet  with  Paul  when  he  came  into  our 
neighborhood.  One  day,  I  found  him  there 
absorbed  in  melancholy,  and  a  conversation 
took  place  between  us,  which  I  will  relate  to 
you,  if  I  do  not  weary  you  too  much  by  my 
long  digressions ;  they  are  perhaps  pardonable 
to  my  age  and  to  my  last  friendships.  I  will 
relate  it  to  you  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue,  that 
you  may  form  some  idea  of  the  natural  good 
sense  of  this  young  man.  You  will  easily  dis- 
tinguish the  speaker,  from  the  character  of  his 
questions  and  of  my  answers. 

Paul. — I  am  very  unhappy.  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Tour  has  now  been  gone  two  years  and 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  15? 

eight  months,  and  we  have  heard  no  tidings 
of  her  for  eight  months  and  a  half.  She  is  rich, 
and  I  am  poor ;  she  has  forgotten  me.  I  have 
a  great  mind  to  follow  her.  I  will  go  to  France ; 
I  will  serve  the  king ;  I  will  make  my  fortune  ; 
and,  then,  Mademoiselle  de  la  Tour's  aunt  will 
bestow  her  niece  upon  me  when  I  shall  have 
become  a  great  lord. 

The  Old  Man. — But,  my  dear  friend,  have 
not  you  told  me  that  you  are  not  of  noble 
birth? 

Paul. — My  mother  has  told  me  so;  but,  as 
for  myself,  I  know  not  what  noble  birth  means. 
I  never  perceived  that  I  had  less  than  others, 
or  that  others  had  more  than  I. 

The  Old  Man. — Obscure  birth,  in  France, 
shuts  every  door  of  access  to  great  employ- 
ments; nor  can  you  even  be  received  among 
any  distinguished  body  of  men,  if  you  labor 
under  this  disadvantage. 

Paul. — You  have  often  told  me  that  it  was 
one  source  of  the  greatness  of  France  that  her 
humblest  subject  might  attain  the  highest 
honors;  and  you  have  cited  to  me  many  in- 
stances of  celebrated  men  who,  born  in  a  mean 
condition,  had  conferred  honor  upon  their 
country.  It  was  your  wish,  then,  by  conceal- 
ing the  truth,  to  stimulate  my  ardor? 


158  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

The  Old  Man. — Never,  my  son,  would  I 
lower  it.  I  told  you  the  truth  with  regard  to 
the  past ;  but  now,  everything  has  undergone 
a  great  change.  Everything  in  France  is  now 
to  be  obtained  by  interest  alone ;  every  place 
and  employment  is  now  become  as  it  were  the 
patrimony  of  a  small  number  of  families,  or  is 
divided  among  public  bodies.  The  king  is  a 
sun,  and  the  nobles  and  great  corporate  bodies 
surround  him  like  so  many  clouds ;  it  is  almost 
impossible  for  any  of  his  rays  to  reach  you. 
Formerly,  under  less  exclusive  administrations 
such  phenomena  have  been  seen.  Then,  talents 
and  merit  showed  themselves  everywhere,  as 
newly  cleared  lands  are  always  loaded  with 
abundance.  But  great  kings,  who  can  really 
form  a  just  estimate  of  men,  and  choose  them 
with  judgment,  are  rare.  The  ordinary  race  of 
monarchs  allow  themselves  to  be  guided  by  the 
nobles  and  people  who  surround  them. 

Paul. — But  perhaps  I  shall  find  one  of  these 
nobles  to  protect  me. 

The  Old  Man. — To  gain  the  protection  of  the 
great  you  must  lend  yourself  to  their  ambition, 
and  administer  to  their  pleasures.  You  would 
never  succeed ;  for,  in  addition  to  your  obscure 
birth,  you  have  too  much  integrity. 

Paul. — But  I  will  perform  such  courageous 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  159 

actions,  I  will  be  so  faithful  to  my  word,  so  ex- 
act in  the  performance  of  my  duties,  so  zealous 
and  so  constant  in  my  friendships,  that  I  will 
render  myself  worthy  to  be  adopted  by  some 
one  of  them.  In  the  ancient  histories,  you 
have  made  me  read,  I  have  seen  many  exam- 
ples of  such  adoptions. 

The  Old  Man.  —  Oh,  my  young  friend ! 
among  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  even  in  their 
decline,  the  nobles  had  some  respect  for  vir- 
tue; but  out  of  all  the  immense  number  of 
men,  sprung  from  the  mass  of  the  people,  in' 
France,  who  have  signalized  themselves  in 
every  possible  manner,  I  do  not  recollect  a  sin- 
gle instance  of  one  being  adopted  by  any  great 
family.  If  it  were  not  for  our  kings,  virtue, 
in  our  country  would  be  eternally  condemned 
as  plebeian.  As  I  said  before,  the  monarch 
sometimes,  when  he  perceives  it,  renders  to  it 
due  honor ;  but  in  the  present  day,  the  distinc- 
tions which  should  be  bestowed  on  merit  are 
generally  to  be  obtained  by  money  alone. 

Paul. — If  I  cannot  find  a  nobleman  to  adopt 
me,  I  will  seek  to  please  some  public  body.  I 
will  espouse  its  interests  and  its  opinions:  I  will 
make  myself  beloved  by  it. 

The  Old  Man.  —You  will  act  then  like  other 


160  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

men? — you  will  renounce  your  conscience  to 
obtain  a  fortune? 

Paul. — Oh,  no!  I  will  never  lend  myself  to 
anything  but  the  truth. 

The  Old  Man. — Instead  of  making  yourself 
beloved,  you  would  become  an  object  of  dislike. 
Besides,  public  bodies  have  never  taken  much 
interest  in  the  discovery  of  truth.  All  opin- 
ions are  nearly  alike  to  ambitious  men,  pro- 
vided only  that  they  themselves  can  gain  their 
ends. 

Paul. — How  unfortunate  I  am!  Everything 
bars  my  progress.  I  am  condemned  to  pass 
my  life  in  ignoble  toil,  far  from  Virginia. 

As  he  said  this  he  sighed  deeply. 

The  Old  Man. — Let  God  be  your  patron,  and 
mankind  the  public  body  you  would  serve. 
Be  constantly  attached  to  them  both.  Fam- 
ilies, corporations,  nations  and  kings  have,  all 
of  them,  their  prejudices  and  their  passions ;  it 
is  often  necessary  to  serve  them  by  the  practice 
of  vice :  God  and  mankind  at  large  require  only 
the  exercise  of  the  virtues. 

But  why  do  you  wish  to  be  distinguished  from 
other  men?  It  is  hardly  a  natural  sentiment, 
for  if  all  men  possessed  it,  every  one  would  be 
at  constant  strife  with  his  neighbor.  Be  satis- 
fied with  fulfilling  your  duty  in  the  station  in 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  161 

which  Providence  has  placed  you ;  be  grateful 
for  your  lot,  which  permits  you  to  enjoy  the 
blessing  of  a  quiet  conscience,  and  which  does 
not  compel  you,  like  the  great,  to  let  your  hap- 
piness rest  on  the  opinion  of  the  little,  or,  like 
the  little,  to  cringe  to  the  great,  in  order  to 
obtain  the  means  of  existence.  You  are  now 
placed  in  a  country  and  a  condition  in  which 
you  are  not  reduced  to  deceive  or  flatter  any- 
one, or  debase  yourself,  as  the  greater  part  of 
those  who  seek  their  fortune  in  Europe  are 
obliged  to  do ;  in  which  the  exercise  of  no  vir- 
tue is  forbidden  you ;  in  which  you  may  be, 
with  impunity,  good,  sincere,  well-informed, 
patient,  temperate,  chaste,  indulgent  to  others' 
faults,  pious,  and  no  shaft  of  ridicule  be  aimed 
at  you  to  destroy  your  wisdom,  as  yet  only  in 
its  bud.  Heaven  has  given  you  liberty,  health, 
a  good  conscience,  and  friends;  kings  them- 
selves, whose  favor  you  desire,  are  not  so  happy. 
Paul. — Ah!  I  only  want  to  have  Virginia 
with  me:  without  her  I  have  nothing, — with 
her,  I  should  possess  all  my  desire.  She  alone 
is  to  me  birth,  glory,  and  fortune.  But,  since 
her  relation  will  only  give  her  to  some  one  with 
a  great  name,  I  will  study.  By  the  aid  of 
study  and  of  books,  learning  and  celebrity  are 
to  be  attained.  I  will  become  a  man  of  science : 

11   Paul  and  Virginia 


162  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

I  will  render  my  knowledge  useful  to  the  ser- 
vice of  my  country,  without  injuring  any  one, 
or  owning  dependence  on  any  one.  I  will  be- 
come celebrated,  and  my  glory  shall  be  achieved 
only  by  myself. 

The  Old  Man. — My  son,  talents  are  a  gift  yet 
more  rare  than  either  birth  or  riches,  and  un- 
doubtedly they  are  a  greater  good  than  either, 
since  they  can  never  be  taken  away  from  us, 
and  that  they  obtain  for  us  everywhere  public 
esteem.  But  they  may  be  said  to  be  worth  all 
that  they  cost  us.  They  are  seldom  acquired 
but  by  every  species  of  privation,  by  the  pos- 
session of  exquisite  sensibility,  which  often 
produces  inward  unhappiness,  and  which  ex- 
poses us  without  to  the  malice  and  persecutions 
of  our  contemporaries.  The  lawyer  envies 
not,  in  France,  the  glory  of  the  soldier,  nor 
does  the  soldier  envy  that  of  the  naval  officer ; 
but  they  will  all  oppose  you,  and  bar  your 
progress  to  distinction,  because  your  assump- 
tion of  superior  ability  will  wound  the  self-love 
of  them  all.  You  say  that  you  will  do  good  to 
men;  but  recollect,  that  he  who  makes  the 
earth  produce  a  single  ear  of  corn  more,  ren- 
ders them  a  greater  service  than  he  who  writes 
a  book. 

Paul. — Oh!  she,  then,  who  planted  this  pa. 


11 1  was  always  sure  to  meet  with  Paul."— Page  156, 

l '.in l  and  Virginia. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  163 

paw  tree,  has  made  a  more  useful  and  more 
grateful  present  to  the  inhabitants  of  these 
forests  than  if  she  had  given  them  a  whole 
library. 

So  saying,  he  threw  his  arms  around  the  tree, 
and  kissed  it  with  transport. 

The  Old  Man.— The  best  of  books,— that 
which  preaches  nothing  but  equality,  brotherly 
love,  charity,  and  peace, — the  Gospel,  has 
served  as  a  pretext,  during  many  centuries, 
for  Europeans  to  let  loose  all  their  fury.  How 
many  tyrannies,  both  public  and  private,  are 
still  practised  in  its  name  on  the  face  of  the 
earth !  After  this,  who  will  dare  to  flatter  him- 
self that  anything  he  can  write  will  be  of  ser- 
vice to  his  fellow-men?  Remember  the  fate  of 
most  of  the  philosophers  who  have  preached  to 
them  wisdom.  Homer,  who  clothed  it  in  such 
noble  verse,  asked  for  alms  all  his  life.  Soc- 
rates, whose  conversation  and  example  gave 
such  admirable  lessons  to  the  Athenians,  was 
sentenced  by  them  to  be  poisoned.  His  sub- 
lime disciple,  Plato,  was  delivered  over  to  slav- 
ery by  the  order  of  the  very  prince  who  pro- 
tected him;  and,  before  them,  Pythagoras, 
whose  humanity  extended  even  to  animals,  was 
burned  alive  by  the  Crotoniates.  What  do  I 
say? — many  even  of  these  illustrious  names 


161  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

have  descended  to  us  disfigured  by  some  traits 
of  satire  by  which  they  became  characterized, 
human  ingratitude  taking  pleasure  in  thus  rec- 
ognizing them ;  and  if,  in  the  crowd,  the  glory 
of  some  names  is  come  down  to  us  without  spot 
or  blemish,  we  shall  find  that  they  who  have 
borne  them  have  lived  far  from  the  society  of 
their  contemporaries ;  like  those  statues  which 
are  found  entire  beneath  the  soil  in  Greece  and 
Italy,  and  which,  by  being  hidden  in  the 
bosom  of  the  earth,  have  escaped  uninjured, 
from  the  fury  of  the  barbarians. 

You  see,  then,  that  to  acquire  the  glory 
which  a  turbulent  literary  career  can  give  you, 
you  must  not  only  be  virtuous,  but  ready,  if 
necessary,  to  sacrifice  life  itself.  But,  after 
all,  do  not  fancy  that  the  great  in  France 
trouble  themselves  about  such  glory  as  this. 
Little  do  they  care  for  literary  men,  whose 
knowledge  brings  them  neither  honors,  nor 
power,  nor  even  admission  at  court.  Persecu- 
tion, it  is  true,  is  rarely  practised  in  this  age, 
because  it  is  habitually  indifferent  to  every- 
thing except  wealth  and  luxury ;  but  knowledge 
and  virtue  no  longer  lead  to  distinction,  since 
everything  in  the  state  is  to  be  purchased  with 
money.  Formerly,  men  of  letters  were  certain 
of  reward  by  some  place  in  the  church,  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA  165 

magistracy,  or  the  administration;  now  they 
are  considered  good  for  nothing  but  to  write 
books.  But  this  fruit  of  their  minds,  little 
valued  by  the  world  at  large,  is  still  worthy  of 
its  celestial  origin.  For  these  books  is  reserved 
-^the  privilege  of  shedding  luster  on  obscure 
virtue,  of  consoling  the  unhappy,  of  enlighten- 
ing nations,  and  of  telling  the  truth  even  to 
kings.  This  is,  unquestionably,  the  most 
august  commission  with  which  Heaven  can 
honor  a  mortal  upon  this  earth.  Where  is  the 
author  who  would  not  be  consoled  for  the  in- 
justice or  contempt  of  those  who  are  the  dis- 
pensers of  the  ordinary  gifts  of  fortune,  when 
he  reflects  that  his  work  may  pass  from  age  to 
age,  from  nation  to  nation,  opposing  a  barrier 
to  error  and  to  tyranny ;  and  that,  from  amidst 
the  obscurity  in  which  he  has  lived,  there  will 
shine  forth  a  glory  which  will  efface  that  of  the 
common  herd  of  monarchs,  the  monuments  of 
whose  deeds  perish  in  oblivion,  notwithstand- 
ing the  flatterers  who  erect  and  magnify  them? 
Paul. — Ah!  I  am  only  covetous  of  glory  to 
bestow  it  on  Virginia,  and  render  her  dear  to 
the  whole  world.  But  can  you,  who  know  so 
much,  tell  me  whether  we  shall  ever  be  mar- 
ried? I  should  like  to  be  a  very  learned  man, 


166  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

if  only  for  the  sake  of  knowing  what  will  come 
to  pass. 

The  Old  Man. — Who  would  live,  my  son,  if 
the  future  were  revealed  to  him? — when  a, 
single  anticipated  misfortune  gives  us  so  much 
useless  uneasiness — when  the  foreknowledge 
of  one  certain  calamity  is  enough  to  embitter 
every  day  that  precedes  it !  It  is  better  not  to 
pry  too  curiously,  even  into  the  things  which 
surround  us.  Heaven,  which  has  given  us  the 
power  of  reflection  to  foresee  our  necessities, 
gave  us  also  those  very  necessities  to  set  limits 
to  its  exercise. 

Paul. — You  tell  me  that  with  money  people 
in  Europe  acquire  dignities  and  honors.  I  will 
go,  then,  to  enrich  myself  in  Bengal,  and  after- 
wards proceed  to  Paris,  and  marry  Virginia. 
I  will  embark  at  once. 

The  Old  Man. — What!  would  you  leave  her 
mother  and  yours? 

Paul. — Why,  you  yourself  have  advised  my 
going  to  the  Indies. 

The  Old  Man. — Virginia  was  then  here;  but 
you  are  now  the  only  means  of  support  both 
of  her  mother  and  of  your  own. 

Paul. — Virginia  will  assist  them  by  means  of 
her  rich  relation. 

The  Old  Man.— The  rich  care  little  for  those 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  167 

from  whom  no  honor  is  reflected  upon  them- 
selves in  the  world.  Many  of  them  have  rela- 
tions much  more  to  be  pitied  than  Madame  de 
I  la  Tour,  who,  for  want  of  their  assistance,  sac- 
rifice their  liberty  for  bread,  and  pass  their 
lives  immured  within  the  walls  of  a  convent. 

Paul. — Oh,  what  a  country  is  Europe!  Vir- 
ginia must  come  back  here.  What  need  has 
she  of  a  rich  relation?  She  was  so  happy  in 
these  huts;  she  looked  so  beautiful  and  so  well- 
dressed  with  a  red  handkerchief  or  a  few  flow- 
ers around  her  head !  Return,  Virginia!  leave 
your  sumptuous  mansions  and  your  grandeur, 
and  come  back  to  these  rocks,  — to  the  shade  of 
these  woods  and  of  our  cocoa  trees.  Alas !  you 
are  perhaps  even  now  unhappy! — and  he  began 
to  shed  tears.  My  father, — continued  he, — 
hide  nothing  from  me ;  if  you  cannot  tell  me 
whether  I  shall  marry  Virginia,  tell  me  at 
least  if  she  loves  me  still,  surrounded  as  she  is 
by  noblemen  who  speak  to  the  king,  and  who 
go  to  see  her. 

The  Old  Man. — Oh,  my  dear  friend!  I  am 
sure,  for  many  reasons  that  she  loves  you ;  but 
above  all,  because  she  is  virtuous.  At  these 
words  he  threw  himself  on  my  neck  in  a  trans- 
port of  joy. 

Paul. — But  do  you  think  that  the  women  of 


168  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Europe  are  false,  as  they  are  represented  in 
the  comedies  and  books  which  you  have  lent 
me? 

The  Old  Man. — Women  are  false  in  those 
I  countries  where  men  are  tyrants.  Violence 
V^always  engenders  a  disposition  to  deceive. 

Paul. — In  what  way  can  men  tyranize  over 
women? 

The  Old  Man. — In  giving  them  in  marriage 
without  consulting  their  inclinations ; — in  unit- 
ing a  young  girl  to  an  old  man  or  a  woman  of 
sensibility  to  a  frigid  and  indifferent  husband. 

Paul. — Why  not  join  together  those  who  are 
suited  to  each  other, — the  young  to  the  young 
and  lovers  to  those  they  love? 

The  Old  Man. — Because  few  young  men  in 
France  have  property  enough  to  support  them 
when  they  are  married,  and  cannot  acquire  it 
till  the  greater  part  of  their  life  is  passed. 
While  young,  they  seduce  the  wives  of  others, 
and  when  they  are  old,  they  cannot  secure  the 
affections  of  their  own.  At  first,  they  them- 
selves are  deceivers:  and  afterwards,  they  are 
deceived  in  their  turn.  This  is  one  of  the  re- 
actions of  that  eternal  justice,  by  which  the 
world  is  governed;  an  excess  on  one  side  is 
sure  to  be  balanced  by  one  on  the  other.  Thus, 
the  greater  part  of  Europeans  pass  their  lives 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  169 

in  this  two-fold  irregularity,  which  increases 
everywhere  in  the  same  proportion  that  wealth 
is  accumulated  in  the  hands  of  a  few  individu- 
als. Society  is  like  a  garden,  where  shrubs 
cannot  grow  if  they  are  overshadowed  by  lofty 
trees ;  but  there  is  this  wide  difference  between 
them, — that  the  beauty  of  a  garden  may  re- 
sult from  the  admixture  of  a  small  number  of 
forest  trees,  while  the  prosperity  of  a  state  de- 
pends on  the  multitude  and  equality  of  its 
citizens,  and  not  on  the  small  number  of  very 
rich  men. 

Paul. — But  where  is  the  necessity  of  being 
rich  in  order  to  marry? 

The  Old  Man. — In  order  to  pass  through  life 
in  abundance,  without  being  obliged  to  work. 

Paul. — But  why  not  work?  I  am  sure  I  work 
hard  enough. 

The  Old  Man. — In  Europe,  working  with 
your  hands  is  considered  a  degradation ;  it  is 
compared  to  the  labor  performed  by  a  machine. 
The  occupation  of  cultivating  the  earth  is  the 
most  despised  of  all.  Even  an  artisan  is  held 
in  more  estimation  than  a  peasant. 

Paul. — What!  do  you  mean  to  say  that  the 
art  which  furnishes  food  for  mankind  is  de- 
spised in  Europe?  I  hardly  understand  you. 

The  Old  Man. — Oh!  it  is  impossible  for  a 


ItO  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

person  educated  according  to  nature  to  form  an 
idea  of  the  depraved  state  of  society.  It  is 
easy  to  form  a  precise  notion  of  order,  but  not 
of  disorder.  Beauty,  virtue,  happiness,  have 
all  their  defined  proportions;  deformity,  vice, 
and  misery  have  none. 

Paul.  — The  rich  then  are  always  very  happy ! 
They  meet  with  no  obstacles  to  the  fulfillment 
of  their  wishes,  and  they  can  lavish  happiness 
on  those  whom  they  love. 

The  Old  Man. — Far  from  it,  my  son!  They 
are,  for  the  most  part  satiated  with  pleasure, 
for  this  very  reason, — that  it  costs  them  no 
trouble.  Have  you  never  yourself  experienced 
how  much  the  pleasure  of  repose  is  increased 
by  fatigue;  that  of  eating,  by  hunger;  that  of 
drinking,  by  thirst?  The  pleasure  also  of  lov- 
ing and  being  loved  is  only  to  be  acquired  by 
innumerable  privations  and  sacrifices.  Wealth, 
by  anticipating  all  their  necessities,  deprives 
its  possessors  of  all  these  pleasures.  To  this 
ennui,  consequent  upon  satiety,  may  also  be 
added  the  pride  which  springs  from  their  opu- 
lence, and  which  is  wounded  by  the  most  trifling 
privation,  when  the  greatest  enjoyments  have 
ceased  to  charm.  The  perfume  of  a  thousand 
roses  gives  pleasure  but  for  a  moment ;  but  the 
pain  occasioned  by  a  single  thorn  endures  long 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  171 

after  the  infliction  of  the  wound.  A  single  evil 
in  the  midst  of  their  pleasures  is  to  the  rich  man 
like  a  thorn  among  flowers ;  to  the  poor,  on  the 
contrary,  one  pleasure  amidst  all  their  troubles 
is  a  flower  among  a  wilderness  of  thorns ;  they 
have  a  most  lively  enjoyment  of  it.  The  effect 
of  everything  is  increased  by  contrast ;  nature 
has  balanced  all  things.  Which  condition, 
after  all,  do  you  consider  preferable, — to  have 
scarcely  anything  to  hope,  and  everything  to 
fear,  or  to  have  everything  to  hope  and  nothing 
to  fear?  The  former  condition  is  that  of  the 
rich,  the  latter,  that  of  the  poor.  But  either 
of  these  extremities  is  with  difficulty  supported 
by  man,  whose  happiness  consists  in  a  middle 
station  of  life,  in  union  with  virtue. 

Paul. — What  do  you  understand  by  virtue? 

The  Old  Man. — To  you,  my  son,  who  sup- 
port your  family  by  your  labor,  it  need  hardly 
be  defined.  Virtue  consists  in  endeavoring  to 
do  all  the  good  we  can  to  others,  with  an  ulti- 
mate intention  of  pleasing  God  alone. 

Paul.  — Oh !  how  virtuous,  then,  is  Virginia ! 
Virtue  led  her  to  seek  for  riches,  that  she  might 
practice  benevolence.  Virtue  induced  her  to 
quit  this  island,  and  virtue  will  bring  her  back 
to  it. 

The  idea  of  her  speedy  return  firing  the  ima- 


172  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

gination  of  this  young  man,  all  his  anxieties 
suddenly  vanished.  Virginia,  he  was  persuaded, 
had  not  written,  because  she  would  soon  arrive. 
It  took  so  little  time  to  come  from  Europe  with 
a  fair  wind !  Then  he  enumerated  the  vessels 
which  had  made  this  passage  of  four  thousand 
five  hundred  leagues  in  less  than  three  months; 
and  perhaps  the  vessel  in  which  Virginia  had 
embarked  might  not  be  more  than  two.  Ship- 
builders were  now  so  ingenious,  and  sailors 
were  so  expert !  He  then  talked  to  me  of  the 
arrangements  he  intended  to  make  for  her 
reception,  of  the  new  house  he  would  build  for 
her,  and  of  the  pleasures  and  surprises  which 
he  would  contrive  for  her  every  day,  when  she 
was  his  wife.  His  wife !  The  idea  filled  him 
with  ecstasy.  "At  least,  my  dear  father," 
said  he,  "you  shall  then  do  no  more  work  than 
you  please.  As  Virginia  will  be  rich,  we  shall 
have  plenty  of  negroes,  and  they  shall  work 
for  you.  You  shall  always  live  with  us,  and 
have  no  other  care  than  to  amuse  yourself  and 
be  happy;" — and,  his  heart  throbbing  with 
joy,  he  flew  to  communicate  these  exquisite 
anticipations  to  his  family. 

In  a  short  time,  however,  these  enchanting 
hopes  were  succeeded  by  the  most  cruel  appre- 
hensions. It  is  always  the  effect  of  violent 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  173 

passions  to  throw  the  soul  into  opposite  ex- 
tremes. Paul  returned  the  next  day  to  my 
dwelling,  overwhelmed  with  melancholy,  and 
said  to  me, — "I  hear  nothing  from  Virginia. 
Had  she  left  Europe  she  would  have  written 
me  word  of  her  departure.  Ah !  the  reports 
which  I  have  heard  concerning  her  are  but  too 
well  founded.  Her  aunt  has  married  her  to 
some  great  lord.  She,  like  others,  has  been 
undone  by  the  love  of  riches.  In  those  books 
which  paint  women  so  well,  virtue  is  treated 
but  as  a  subject  of  romance.  If  Virginia  had 
been  virtuous,  she  would  never  have  forsaken 
her  mother  and  me.  I  do  nothing  but  think  of 
her,  and  she  has  forgotten  me.  I  am  wretched 
and  she  is  diverting  herself.  The  thought  dis- 
tracts me;  I  cannot  bear  myself!  Would  to 
Heaven  that  war  were  declared  in  India!  I 
would  go  there  and  die. ' ' 

"My  son,"  I  answered,  "that  courage  which 
prompts  us  on  to  court  death  is  but  the  cour- 
age of  a  moment,  and  is  often  excited  only  by 
the  vain  applause  of  men,  or  by  the  hope  of 
posthumous  renown.  There  is  another  descrip- 
tion of  courage  rarer  and  more  necessary, 
which  enables  us  to  support,  without  witness 
and  without  applause,  the  vexations  of  life; 
this  virtue  is  patience.  Relying  for  support. 


174  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

not  upon  the  opinions  of  others,  or  the  impulse 
of  the  passions,  but  upon  the  will  of  God, 
patience  is  the  courage  of  virtue. ' ' 

"Ah!"  cried  he,  "I  am  then  without  virtue ! 
Everything  overwhelms  me  and  drives  me  to 
despair." — "Equal,  constant,  and  invariable 
virtue,"  I  replied,  "belongs  not  toman.  In 
the  midst  of  the  many  passions  which  agitate 
us,  our  reason  is  disordered  and  obscure :  but 
there  is  an  ever-burning  lamp,  at  which  we 
can  rekindle  its  flame ;  and  that  is,  literature. 

"Literature,  my  dear  son,  is  the  gift  of  Heav- 
en, a  ray  of  that  wisdom  by  which  the  uni- 
verse is  governed,  and  which  man,  inspired  by 
a  celestial  intelligence,  has  drawn  down  to 
earth.  Like  the  rays  of  the  sun,  it  enlightens 
us,  it  rejoices  us,  it  warms  us  with  a  heavenly 
flame,  and  seems,  in  some  sort,  like  the  element 
of  fire,  to  bend  all  nature  to  our  use.  By  its 
means  we  are  enabled  to  bring  around  us  all 
things,  all  places,  all  men,  and  all  times.  It 
assists  us  to  regulate  our  manners  and  our  life. 
By  its  aid,  too,  our  passions  are  calmed,  vice  is 
suppressed,  and  virtue  encouraged  by  the  mem- 
orable examples  of  great  and  good  men  which 
it  has  handed  down  to  us,  and  whose  time-hon- 
ored images  it  ever  brings  before  our  eyes. 
Literature  is  a  daughter  of  Heaven  who  has 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  175 

descended  upon  earth  to  soften  and  to  charm 
away  all  the  evils  of  the  human  race.  The 
greatest  writers  have  ever  appeared  in  the 
worst  times, — in  times  in  which  society  can 
hardly  be  held  together, — the  times  of  barba- 
rism and  every  species  of  depravity.  My  son, 
literature  has  consoled  an  infinite  number  of 
men  more  unhappy  than  yourself :  Xenophon, 
banished  from  his  country  after  having  saved 
to  her  ten  thousand  of  her  sons;  Scipio  Afri- 
canus,  wearied  to  death  by  the  calumnies  of  the 
Romans ;  Lucullus,  tormented  by  their  cabals ; 
and  Catinat,  by  the  ingratitude  of  a  court. 
The  Greeks,  with  their  never-failing  ingenuity, 
assigned  to  each  of  the  Muses  a  portion  of  the 
great  circle  of  human  intelligence  for  her  espe- 
cial superintendence;  we  ought  in  the  same 
manner,  to  give  up  to  them  the  regulation  of 
our  passions,  to  bring  them  under  proper  re- 
straint. Literature  in  this  imaginative  guise, 
would  thus  fulfill,  in  relation  to  the  powers  of 
the  soul,  the  same  functions  as  the  Hours,  who 
yoked  and  conducted  the  chariot  of  the  Sun. 

"Have  recourse  to  your  books,  then,  my  son. 
The  wise  men  who  have  written  before  our 
days  are  travelers  who  have  preceded  us  in  the 
paths  of  misfortune,  and  who  stretch  out  a 
friendly  hand  towards  us,  and  invite  us  to  join 


176  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

their  society,  when  we  are  abandoned  by 
everything  else.  A  good  book  is  a  good 
friend. ' ' 

"Ah!"  cried  Paul,  "I  stood  in  no  need  of 
books  when  Virginia  was  here,  and  she  had 
studied  as  little  as  myself;  but  when  she  looked 
at  me,  and  called  me  her  friend,  I  could  not 
feel  unhappy. ' ' 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  I,  "there  is  no  friend 
so  agreeable  as  a  mistress  by  whom  we  are  be- 
loved. There  is,  moreover,  in  woman  a  liveli- 
ness and  gayety,  which  powerfully  tend  to  dis- 
sipate the  melancholy  feelings  of  a  man ;  her 
presence  drives  away  the  dark  phantoms  of 
imagination  produced  by  over-reflection.  Upon 
her  countenance  sit  soft  attractions  and  tender 
confidence.  What  joy  is  not  heightened  when 
it  is  shared  by  her?  What  brow  is  not  unbent 
by  her  smiles?  What  anger  can  resist  her  tears? 
Virginia  will  return  with  more  philosophy  than 
you,  and  will  be  quite  surprised  to  find  the 
garden  so  unfinished ; — she  who  could  think  of 
its  embellishments  in  spite  of  all  the  persecu- 
tions of  her  aunt,  and  when  far  from  her 
mother  and  from  you. ' ' 

The  idea  of  Virginia's  speedy  return  reani- 
mated the  drooping  spirits  of  her  lover,  and  he 
resumed  his  rural  occupations,  happy  amidst 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  177 

his  toils,  in  the  reflection  that  they  would  soon 
find  a  termination  so  dear  to  the  wishes  of  his 
heart. 

One  morning,  at  break  of  day  (it  was  the 
24th  of  December,  1744),  Paul,  when  he  arose, 
perceived  a  white  flag  hoisted  upon  the  Moun- 
tain of  Discovery.  This  flag  he  knew  to  be  the 
signal  of  a  vessel  descried  at  sea.  He  instantly 
flew  to  the  town  to  learn  if  this  vessel  brought 
any  tidings  of  Virginia,  and  waited  there  till 
the  return  of  the  pilot,  who  was  gone,  accord- 
ing to  custom,  to  board  the  ship.  The  pilot 
did  not  return  till  the  evening,  when  he 
brought  the  Governor  information  that  the  sig- 
naled vessel  was  the  Saint- Geran,  of  seven 
hundred  tons  burden,  and  commanded  by  a 
captain  of  the  name  of  Aubin;  that  she  was 
now  four  leagues  out  at  sea,  but  would  prob- 
ably anchor  at  Port  Louis  the  following  after- 
noon, if  the  wind  became  fair ;  at  present  there 
was  a  calm.  The  pilot  then  handed  to  the 
Governor  a  number  of  letters  which  the  Saint- 
Geran  had  brought  from  France,  among  which 
was  one  addressed  to  Madame  de  la  Tour,  in 
the  handwriting  of  Virginia.  Paul  seized  upon 
the  letter,  kissed  it  with  transports,  and  plac- 
ing it  in  his  bosom,  flew  to  the  plantation.  No 
sooner  did  he  perceive  from  a  distance  the 

12   Paul  and  Virginia 


178  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

family,  who  were  awaiting  his  return  upon  the 
Rock  of  Adieus,  than  he  waved  the  letter  aloft 
in  the  air,  without  being  able  to  utter  a  word. 
No  sooner  was  the  seal  broken,  than  they  all 
crowded  round  Madame  de  la  Tour,  to  hear 
the  letter  read.  Virginia  informed  her  mother 
that  she  had  experienced  much  ill-usage  from 
her  aunt,  who,  after  having  in  vain,  urged  her 
to  a  marriage  against  her  inclination,  had  dis- 
inherited her,  and  had  sent  her  back  at  a  time 
when  she  would  probably  reach  the  Mauritius 
during  the  hurricane  season.  In  vain,  she 
added,  had  she  endeavored  to  soften  her  aunt, 
by  representing  what  she  owed  to  her  mother, 
and  to  her  early  habits;  she  was  treated  as  a 
romantic  girl,  whose  head  had  been  turned  by 
novels.  She  could  now  only  think  of  the  joy 
of  again  seeing  and  embracing  her  beloved 
family,  and  would  have  gratified  her  ardent 
desire  at  once,  by  landing  in  the  pilot's  boat, 
if  the  captain  had  allowed  her ;  but  that  he  had 
objected,  on  account  of  the  distance,  and  of  a 
heavy  swell,  which,  notwithstanding  the  calm, 
reigned  in  the  open  sea. 

As  soon  as  the  letter  was  finished,  the  whole 
of  the  family,  transported  with  joy,  repeatedly 
exclaimed,  "Virginia  is  arrived!"  and  mis- 
tresses and  servants  embraced  each  other. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  179 

Madame  de  la  Tour  said  to  Paul, — "My  son,  go 
and  inform  our  neighbor  of  Virginia's  arri- 
val. ' '  Domingo  immediately  lighted  a  torch 
of  bois  de  ronde,  and  he  and  Paul  bent  their 
way  towards  my  dwelling. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  at  night,  and  I  was 
just  going  to  extinguish  my  lamp,  and  retire  to 
rest,  when  I  perceived,  through  the  palisades 
round  my  cottage,  a  light  in  the  woods.  Soon 
after  I  heard  the  voice  of  Paul  calling  me.  I 
instantly  arose,  and  had  hardly  dressed  myself, 
when  Paul,  almost  beside  himself,  and  panting 
for  breath,  sprang  on  my  neck,  crying, — "Come 
along,  come  along,  Virginia  is  arrived.  Let  us 
go  to  the  port;  the  vessel  will  anchor  at  break 
of  day. ' ' 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words,  when  we 
set  off.  As  we  were  passing  through  the  woods 
of  the  Sloping  Mountain,  and  were  already  on 
the  road  which  leads  from  the  Shaddock  Grove 
to  the  port,  I  heard  some  one  walking  behind 
us.  It  proved  to  be  a  negro,  and  he  was  ad- 
vancing with  hasty  steps.  When  he  had 
reached  us,  I  asked  him  whence  he  came,  and 
whither  he  was  going  with  such  expedition. 
He  answered,  "I  come  from  that  part  of  the 
island  called  Golden  Dust ;  and  am  sent  to  the 
port,  to  inform  the  Governor  that  a  ship  from 


180  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

France  has  anchored  under  the  Isle  of  Amber. 
She  is  firing  guns  of  distress,  for  the  sea  is 
very  rough."  Having  said  this,  the  man  left 
us,  and  pursued  his  journey  without  any  fur- 
ther delay. 

I  then  said  to  Paul, — "Let  us  go  towards  the 
quarter  of  the  Golden  Dust,  and  meet  Virginia 
there.  It  is  not  more  than  three  leagues  from 
hence. ' '  We  accordingly  bent  our  course  to- 
wards the  northern  part  of  the  island.  The 
heat  was  suffocating.  The  moon  had  risen, 
and  was  surrounded  by  three  large  black  cir- 
cles. A  frightful  darkness  shrouded  the  sky; 
but  the  frequent  flashes  of  lightning  discovered 
to  us  long  rows  of  thick  and  gloomy  clouds, 
hanging  very  low,  and  heaped  together  over 
the  center  of  the  island,  being  driven  in  with 
great  rapidity  from  the  ocean,  although  not  a 
breath  of  air  was  perceptible  upon  the  land. 
As  we  walked  along,  we  thought  we  heard 
peals  of  thunder;  but,  on  listening  more  at- 
tentively, we  perceived  that  it  was  the  sound 
of  cannon  at  a  distance,  repeated  by  the  echoes. 
These  ominous  sounds,  joined  to  the  tempest- 
uous aspect  of  the  heavens,  made  me  shudder. 
I  had  little  doubt  of  their  being  signals  of  dis- 
tress from  a  ship  in  danger.  In  about  half  and 
hour  the  firing  ceased,  and  I  found  the  silence 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  181 

still  more  appalling  than  the  dismal  sounds 
which  had  preceded  it. 

We  hastened  on  without  uttering  a  word,  or 
daring  to  communicate  to  each  other  our  mu- 
tual apprehensions.  At  midnight,  by  great  ex- 
ertion, we  arrived  at  the  sea-shore,  in  that  part 
of  the  island  called  Golden  Dust.  The  billows 
were  breaking  against  the  beach  with  a  horri- 
ble noise,  covering  the  rocks  and  the  strand 
with  foam  of  a  dazzling  whiteness,  blended 
with  sparks  of  fire.  By  these  phosphoric 
gleams  we  distinguished,  notwithstanding  the 
darkness,  a  number  of  fishing  canoes,  drawn 
up  high  upon  the  beach. 

At  the  entrance  of  a  wood,  a  short  distance 
from  us,  we  saw  a  fire,  round  which  a  party 
of  the  inhabitants  were  assembled.  We  re- 
paired thither,  in  order  to  rest  ourselves  till 
the  morning.  While  we  were  seated  near  this 
fire,  one  of  the  standers-by  related,  that  late  in 
the  afternoon  he  had  seen  a  vessel  in  the  open 
sea,  driven  towards  the  island  by  the  currents ; 
that  the  night  had  hidden  it  from  his  view ; 
and  that  two  hours  after  sunset  he  had  heard 
the  firing  of  signal  guns  of  distress,  but  that 
the  surf  was  so  high,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
launch  a  boat  to  go  off  to  her ;  that  a  short  time 
after,  he  thought  he  perceived  the  glimmering 


182  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

of  the  watch-lights  on  board  the  vessel,  which, 
he  feared,  by  its  having  approached  so  near  the 
coast,  had  steered  between  the  main  land  and 
the  little  island  of  Amber,  mistaking  the  latter 
for  the  Point  of  Endeavor,  near  which  vessels 
pass  in  order  to  gain  Port  Louis;  and  that,  if 
this  were  the  case,  which,  however,  he  would 
not  take  upon  himself  to  be  certain  of,  the  ship, 
he  thought,  was  in  very  great  danger.  An- 
other islander  then  informed  us,  that  he  had 
frequently  crossed  the  channel  which  separates 
the  isle  of  Amber  from  the  coast,  and  had 
'sounded  it ;  that  the  anchorage  was  very  good, 
and  that  the  ship  would  there  lie  as  safely  as 
in  the  best  harbor.  "I  would  stake  all  I  am 
worth  upon  it,"  said  he,  "and  if  I  were  on 
board,  I  should  sleep  as  sound  as  on  shore." 
A  third  bystander  declared  that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  the  ship  to  enter  the  channel,  which 
was  scarcely  navigable  for  a  boat.  He  was 
certain,  he  said,  that  he  had  seen  the  vessel  at 
anchor  beyond  the  isle  of  Amber;  so  that,  if 
the  wind  arose  in  the  morning,  she  could  either 
put  to  sea,  or  gain  the  harbor.  Other  inhab- 
itants gave  different  opinions  upon  this  subject, 
'which  they  continued  to  discuss  in  the  usual 
desultory  manner  of  the  indolent  Creoles.  Paul 
and  I  observed  a  profound  silence.  We  re- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  183 

mained  on  this  spot  till  break  of  day,  but  the 
weather  was  too  hazy  to  admit  of  our  distin- 
guishing any  object  at  sea,  everything  being 
covered  with  fog.  All  we  could  descry  to  sea- 
ward was  a  dark  cloud,  which  they  told  us  was 
the  isle  of  Amber,  at  the  distance  of  a  quarter 
of  a  league  from  the  coast.  On  this  gloomy 
day  we  could  only  discern  the  point  of  land  on 
which  we  were  standing,  and  the  peaks  of  some 
inland  mountains,  which  started  out  occasionally 
from  the  midst  of  the  clouds  that  hung  around 
them. 

At  about  seven  in  the  morning  we  heard  the 
sound  of  drums  in  the  woods :  it  announced  the 
approach  of  the  Governor,  Monsieur  de  la  Bour- 
donnais,  who  soon  after  arrived  on  horseback, 
at  the  head  of  a  detachment  of  soldiers  armed 
with  muskets,  and  a  crowd  of  islanders  and 
negroes.  He  drew  up  his  soldiers  upon  the 
beach,  and  ordered  them  to  make  a  general 
discharge.  This  was  no  sooner  done,  than  we 
perceived  a  glimmering  light  upon  the  water 
which  was  instantly  followed  by  the  report  of 
a  cannon.  We  judged  that  the  ship  was  at  no 
great  distance  and  all  ran  towards  that  part 
whence  the  light  and  sound  proceeded.  We 
now  discerned  through  the  fog  the  hull  and 
yards  of  a  large  vessel.  We  were  so  near  to 


184  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

her,  that  notwithstanding  the  tumult  of  the 
waves,  we  could  distinctly  hear  the  whistle  of 
the  boatswain,  and  the  shouts  of  the  sailors,  who 
cried  out  three  times,  Vive  le  Roi!  this  being 
the  cry  of  the  French  in  extreme  danger,  as 
well  as  in  exuberant  joy;  as  though  they 
wished  to  call  their  prince  to  their  aid.  or  to 
testify  to  him  that  they  are  prepared  to  lay 
down  their  lives  in  his  service. 

As  soon  as  the  Saint-Geran  perceived  that  we 
were  near  enough  to  render  her  assistance,  she 
continued  to  fire  guns  regularly  at  intervals  of 
three  minutes.  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais 
caused  great  fires  to  be  lighted  at  certain  dis- 
tances upon  the  strand,  and  sent  to  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  neighborhood,  in  search  of 
provisions,  planks,  cables,  and  empty  barrels. 
A  number  of  people  soon  arrived,  accompanied 
by  their  negroes  loaded  with  provisions  and 
cordage,  which  they  had  brought  from  the 
plantations  of  Golden  Dust,  from  the  district  of 
La  Plaque,  and  from  the  river  of  the  Rampart. 
One  of  the  most  aged  of  these  planters, 
approaching  the  Governor,  said  to  him, — "We 
have  heard  all  night  hollow  noises  in  the 
mountain ;  in  the  woods,  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
are  shaken,  although  there  is  no  wind;  the 
sea-birds  seek  refuge  upon  the  land:  it  is  cer- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  185 

tain  that  all  these  signs  announce  a  hurricane. " 
"Well,  my  friends,"  answered  the  Governor, 
"we  are  prepared  for  it,  and  no  doubt  the 
vessel  is  also. ' ' 

Everything,  indeed,  presaged  the  near 
approach  of  the  hurricane.  The  center  of  the 
clouds  in  the  zenith  was  of  a  dismal  black, 
while  their  skirts  were  tinged  with  a  copper- 
colored  hue.  The  air  resounded  with  the 
cries  of  the  tropic-birds,  petrels,  frigate-birds, 
and  innumerable  other  sea-fowl,  which  not- 
withstanding the  obscurity  of  the  atmosphere, 
were  seen  coming  from  every  point  of  the 
horizon,  to  seek  for  shelter  in  the  island. 

Towards  nine  in  the  morning  we  heard  in 
the  direction  of  the  ocean  the  most  terrific 
noise,  like  the  sound  of  thunder  mingled  with 
that  of  torrents  rushing  down  the  steeps  of  lofty 
mountains.  A  general  cry  was  heard  of, 
"There  is  the  hurricane!"  and  the  next 
moment  a  frightful  gust  of  wind  dispelled  the 
fog  which  covered  the  isle  of  Amber  and  its 
channel.  The  Saint-Geran  then  presented  her- 
self to  our  view,  her  deck  crowded  with  people, 
her  yards  and  topmasts  lowered  down,  and  her 
flag  half-mast  high,  moored  by  four  cables  at 
her  bow  and  one  at  her  stern.  She  had 
anchored  between  the  isle  of  Amber  and  the 


186  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

mainland,  inside  the  chain  of  reefs  which 
encircles  the  island,  and  which  she  had  passed 
through  in  a  place  where  no  vessel  had  ever 
passed  before.  She  presented  her  head  to  the 
waves  that  rolled  in  from  the  open  sea,  and  as 
each  billow  rushed  into  the  narrow  strait  where 
she  lay,  her  bow  lifted  to  such  a  degree  as  to 
show  her  keel ;  and  at  the  same  moment  her 
stern,  plunging  into  the  water  disappeared 
altogether  from  our  sight,  as  if  it  were  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  surges.  In  this  position, 
driven  by  the  winds  and  waves  towards  the 
shore,  it  was  equally  impossible  for  her  to 
return  by  the  passage  through  which  she  had 
made  her  way;  or,  by  cutting  her  cables,  to 
strand  herself  upon  the  beach,  from  which  she 
was  separated  by  sandbanks  and  reefs  of  rocks. 
Every  billow  which  broke  upon  the  coast 
advanced  roaring  to  the  bottom  of  the  bay, 
throwing  up  heaps  of  shingle  to  the  distance  of 
fifty  feet  upon  the  land;  then^  rushing  back, 
laid  bare  its  sandy  bed,  from  which  it  rolled 
immense  stones,  with  a  hoarse  and  dismal 
noise.  The  sea,  swelled  by  the  violence  of  the 
wind,  rose  higher  every  moment;  and  the 
whole  channel  between  this  island  and  the  isle 
of  Amber  was  soon  one  vast  sheet  of  white 
foam,  full  of  yawning  pits  of  black  and  deep 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  187 

billows.  Heaps  of  this  foam,  more  than  six 
feet  high,  were  piled  up  at  the  bottom  of  the 
bay;  and  the  winds  which  swept  its  surface 
carried  masses  of  it  over  the  steep  sea-bank, 
scattering  it  upon  the  land  to  the  distance  of 
half  a  league.  These  innumerable  white 
flakes,  driven  horizontally  even  to  the  very 
foot  of  the  mountains,  looked  like  snow  issuing 
from  the  bosom  of  the  ocean.  The  appearance 
of  the  horizon  portended  a  lasting  tempest ;  the 
sky  and  the  water  seemed  blended  together. 
Thick  masses  of  clouds,  of  a  frightful  form, 
swept  across  the  zenith  with  the  swiftness  of 
birds,  while  others  appeared  motionless  as 
rocks.  Not  a  single  spot  of  blue  sky  could  be 
discerned  in  the  whole  firmament ;  and  a  pale 
yellow  gleam  only  lightened  up  all  the  objects 
of  the  earth,  the  sea,  and  the  skies. 

From  the  violent  rolling  of  the  ship,  what  we 
all  dreaded  happened  at  last.  The  cables 
which  held  her  bow  were  torn  away:  she  then 
swung  to  a  single  hawser,  and  was  instantly 
dashed  upon  the  rocks,  at  the  distance  of  half 
a  cable's  length  from  the  shore.  A  general 
cry  of  horror  issued  from  the  spectators.  Paul 
rushed  forward  to  throw  himself  into  the  sea, 
when,  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  "My  son, "  I 
exclaimed,  "would  you  perish?"  "Let  me  go 


188  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

to  save  her,"  he  cried,  "or  let  me  die!"  See- 
ing that  despair  had  deprived  him  of  reason, 
Domingo  and  I,  in  order  to  preserve  him, 
fastened  a  long  cord  around  his  waist,  and  held 
it  fast  by  the  end.  Paul  then  precipitated  him- 
self towards  the  Saint-Geran,  now  swimming, 
and  now  walking  upon  the  rocks.  Sometimes 
he  had  hopes  of  reaching  the  vessel,  which  the 
sea,  by  the  reflux  of  its  waves,  had  left  almost 
dry,  so  that  you  could  have  walked  round  it  on 
foot ;  but  suddenly  the  billows,  returning  with 
fresh  fury,  shrouded  it  beneath  mountains  of 
water,  which  then  lifted  it  upright  upon  its 
keel.  The  breakers  at  the  same  moment  threw 
the  unfortunate  Paul  far  upon  the  beach,  his 
legs  bathed  in  blood,  his  bosom  wounded,  and 
himself  half  dead.  The  moment  he  had  recov- 
ered the  use  of  his  senses,  he  arose,  and 
returned  with  new  ardor  towards  the  vessel, 
the  parts  of  which  now  yawned  asunder  from 
the  violent  strokes  of  the  billows.  The  crew 
then,  despairing  of  their  safety,  threw  them- 
selves in  crowds  into  the  sea,  upon  yards, 
planks,  hen-coops,  tables,  and  barrels.  At 
this  moment  we  beheld  an  object  which  wrung 
our  hearts  with  grief  and  pity ;  a  young  lady 
appeared  in  the  stern-gallery  of  the  Saint- 
Geran,  stretching  out  her  arms  towards  him 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  189 

who  was  making  so  many  efforts  to  join  her. 
It  was  Virginia,  She  had  discovered  her  lover 
by  his  intrepidity.  The  sight  of  this  amiable 
girl,  exposed  to  such  horrible  danger,  filled 
us  with  unutterable  despair.  As  for  Virginia, 
with  a  firm  and  dignified  mien,  she  waved  her 
hand,  as  if  bidding  us  an  eternal  farewell. 
All  the  sailors  had  flung  themselves  into  the 
sea,  except  one,  who  still  remained  upon  the 
deck,  and  who  was  naked  and  strong  as  Her- 
cules. This  man  approached  Virginia  with 
respect,  and,  kneeling  at  her  feet  attempted 
to  force  her  to  throw  off  her  clothes;  but 
she  repulsed  him  with  modesty,  and  turned 
away  her  head.  Then  were  heard  redoubled 
cries  from  the  spectators,  "Save  her! — save 
her!  do  not  leave  her!"  But  at  that  moment  a 
mountain  billow,  of  enormous  magnitude, 
ingulfed  itself  between  the  isle  of  Amber  and 
the  coast,  and  menaced  the  shattered  vessel, 
towards  which  it  rolled  bellowing,  with  its 
black  sides  and  foaming  head.  At  this  terrible 
sight  the  sailor  flung  himself  into  the  sea ;  and 
Virginia,  seeing  death  .inevitable,  crossed  her 
hands  upon  her  breast,  and  raising  upwards 
her  serene  and  beauteous  eyes,  seemed  an 
angel  prepared  to  take  her  flight  to  Heaven. 
Oh,  day  of  horror!  Alas,  everything  was 


190  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

swallowed  up  by  the  relentless  billows.  The 
surge  threw  some  of  the  spectators,  whom  an 
impulse  of  humanity  had  prompted  to  advance 
towards  Virginia,  far  upon  the  beach,  and  also 
the  sailor  who  had  endeavored  to  save  her  life. 
This  man,  who  had  escaped  from  almost  cer- 
tain death,  kneeling  on  the  sand,  exclaimed,— 
"Oh,  my  God!  thou  hast  saved  my  life,  but  I 
would  have  given  it  willingly  for  that  excel- 
lent young  lady,  who  had  persevered  in  not 
undressing  herself  as  I  had  done.  "  Domingo 
and  I  drew  the  unfortunate  Paul  to  the  shore. 
He  was  senseless,  and  blood  was  flowing  from 
his  mouth  and  ears.  The  Governor  ordered 
him  to  be  put  into  the  hands  of  a  surgeon, 
while  we,  on  our  part,  wandered  along  the 
beach,  in  hopes  that  the  sea  would  throw  up 
the  corpse  of  Virginia.  But  the  wind  having 
suddenly  changed,  as  it  frequently  happens 
during  hurricanes,  our  search  was  in  vain :  and 
we  had  the  grief  of  thinking  that  we  should  not 
be  able  to  bestow  on  this  sweet  and  unfortu- 
nate girl  the  last  sad  duties.  We  retired  from 
the  spot  overwhelmed  with  dismay,  and  our 
minds  wholly  occupied  by  one  cruel  loss, 
although  numbers  had  perished  in  the  wreck. 
Some  of  the  spectators  seemed  tempted,  from 
the  fatal  destiny  of  this  virtuous  girl,  to  doubt 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  191 

the  existence  of  Providence :  for  there  are  in 
life  such  terrible,  such  unmerited  evils,  that 
even  the  hope  of  the  wise  is  sometimes  shaken. 
In  the  meantime  Paul,  who  began  to  recover 
his  senses,  was  taken  to  a  house  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, till  he  was  in  a  fit  state  to  be  removed  to 
his  own  home.  Thither  I  bent  my  way  with  Do- 
mingo to  discharge  the  melancholy  duty  of  pre- 
paring Virginia's  mother  and  her  friend  for  the 
disastrous  event  which  had  happened.  When 
we  had  reached  the  entrance  of  the  valley  of 
the  river  of  Fan-Palms,  some  negroes  informed 
us  that  the  sea  had  thrown  up  many  pieces  of 
the  wreck  in  the  opposite  bay.  We  descended 
towards  it  and  one  of  the  first  objects  that 
struck  my  sight  upon  the  beach  was  the  corpse 
of  Virginia.  The  body  was  half  covered  with 
sand,  and  preserved  the  attitude  in  which  we 
had  seen  her  perish.  Her  features  were  not 
sensibly  changed,  her  eyes  were  closed,  and 
her  countenance  was  still  serene ;  but  the  pale 
purple  hues  of  death  were  blended  on  her 
cheek  with  the  blush  of  virgin  modesty.  One 
of  her  hands  was  placed  upon  her  clothes ;  and 
the  other,  which  she  held  on  her  heart,  was  fast 
closed,  and  so  stiffened,  that  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty that  I  took  from  its  grasp  a  small  box. 
How  great  was  my  emotion  when  I  saw  that 


192  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

it  contained  the  picture  of  Paul,  which  she 
had  promised  him  never  to  part  with  while  she 
lived !  At  the  sight  of  this  last  mark  of  the 
fidelity  and  tenderness  of  the  unfortunate  girl, 
I  wept  bitterly.  As  for  Domingo,  he  beat  his 
breast,  and  pierced  the  air  with  his  shrieks. 
With  heavy  hearts  we  then  carried  the  body  of 
Virginia  to  a  fisherman's  hut,  and  gave  it  in 
charge  of  some  poor  Malabar  women,  who 
carefully  washed  away  the  sand. 

While  they  were  employed  in  this  melan- 
choly office,  we  ascended  the  hill  with  trem- 
bling steps  to  the  plantation.  We  found 
Madame  de  la  Tour  and  Margaret  at  prayer ; 
hourly  expecting  to  have  tidings  from  the, 
ship.  As  soon  as  Madame  de  la  Tour  saw  me 
coming,  she  eagerly  cried, — "Where  is  my 
daughter — my  dear  daughter, — my  child?"  My 
silence  and  my  tears  apprised  her  of  her  mis- 
fortune. She  wa's  instantly  seized  with  con- 
vulsive stopping  of  the  breath  and  agonizing 
pains,  and  her  voice  was  only  heard  in  sighs 
and  groans.  Margaret  cried,  "Where  is  my 
son?  I  do  not  see  my  son !"  and  fainted.  We 
ran  to  her  assistance.  In  a  short  time  she 
recovered,  and  being  assured  that  Paul  was 
safe,  and  under  the  care  of  the  Governor,  she 
thought  of  nothing  but  of  succoring  her  friend, 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  193 

who  recovered  from  one  fainting  fit  only  to 
fall  into  another.  Madame  de  la  Tour  passed 
the  whole  night  in  these  cruel  sufferings,  and 
I  became  convinced  that  there  was  no  sorrow 
like  that  of  a  mother.  When  she  recovered 
her  senses,  she  cast  a  fixed,  unconscious  look 
towards  heaven.  In  vain  her  friend  and  myself 
pressed  her  hands  in  ours;  in  vain  we  called 
upon  her  by  the  most  tender  names;  she 
appeared  wholly  insensible  to  these  testimo- 
nials of  our  affection,  and  no  sound  issued  from 
her  oppressed  bosom,  but  deep  and  hollow 
moans. 

During  the  morning  Paul  was  carried  home 
in  a  palanquin.  He  had  now  recovered  the 
use  of  his  reason,  but  was  unable  to  utter  a 
word.  His  interview  with  his  mother  and 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  which  I  had  dreaded, 
produced  a  better  effect  than  all  my  cares.  A 
ray  of  consolation  gleamed  on  the  countenance 
of  the  two  unfortunate  mothers.  They  pressed 
close  to  him,  clasped  him  in  their  arms,  and 
kissed  him :  their  tears,  which  excess  of  anguish 
had  till  now  dried  up  at  the  source,  began  to 
flow.  Paul  mixed  his  tears  with  theirs;  and 
nature  having  thus  found  relief,  a  long  stupor 
succeeded  the  convulsive  pangs  they  had 

13    Paul  and  Virginia 


194  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

suffered,  and  afforded  them  a  lethargic  repose, 
which  was  in  truth,  like  that  of  death. 

Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  sent  to  apprise 
me  secretly  that  the  corpse  of  Virginia  had  been 
borne  to  the  town  by  his  order,  from  whence 
it  was  to  be  transferred  to  the  church  of  the 
Shaddock  Grove.  I  immediately  went  down 
to  Port  Louis,  where  I  found  a  multitude  assem- 
bled from  all  parts  of  the  island,  in  order  to  be 
present  at  the  funeral  solemnity,  as  if  the  isle 
had  lost  that  which  was  nearest  and  dearest  to 
it.  The  vessels  in  the  harbor  had  their  yards 
crossed,  their  flags  halfmast,  and  fired  guns  at 
long  intervals.  A  body  of  grenadiers  led  the 
funeral  procession,  with  their  muskets  re- 
versed, their  muffled  drums  sending  forth  slow 
and  dismal  sounds.  Dejection  was  depicted  in 
the  countenance  of  these  warriors,  who  had  so 
often  braved  death  in  battle  without  changing 
color.  Eight  young  ladies  of  considerable  fam- 
ilies of  the  island,  dressed  in  white,  and  bear- 
ing palm-branches  in  their  hands,  carried  the 
corpse  of  their  amiable  companion,  which  was 
covered  with  flowers.  They  were  followed  by 
a  chorus  of  children,  chanting  hymns,  and  by 
the  Governor,  his  field  officer,  all  the  principal 
inhabitants  of  the  island,  and  an  immense 
crowd  of  people. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  195 

This  imposing  funeral  solemnity  had  been 
ordered  by  the  administration  of  the  country, 
which  was  desirous  of  doing  honor  to  the  vir- 
tues of  Virginia.  But  when  the  mournful  pro- 
cession arrived  at  the  foot  of  this  mountain 
within  sight  of  those  cottages  of  which  she  had 
been  so  long  an  inmate  and  an  ornament, 
diffusing  happiness  all  around  them,  and  which 
her  loss  had  now  filled  with  despair,  the  funeral 
pomp  was  interrupted,  the  hymns  and  anthems 
ceased,  and  the  whole  plain  resounded  with 
sighs  and  lamentations.  Numbers  of  young 
girls  ran  from  the  neighboring  plantations,  to 
touch  the  coffin  of  Virginia  with  their  handker- 
chiefs, and  with  chaplets  and  crowns  of  flow- 
ers, invoking  her  as  a  saint.  Mothers  asked  of 
Heaven  a  child  like  Virginia ;  lovers,  a  heart 
as  faithful ;  the  poor,  as  tender  a  friend ;  and 
the  slaves  as  kind  a  mistress. 

When  the  procession  had  reached  the  place 
of  interment,  some  negresses  of  Madagascar 
and  Caff  res  of  Mozambique  placed  a  number  of 
baskets  of  fruit  around  the  corpse,  and  hung 
pieces  of  stuff  upon  the  adjoining  trees,  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  their  several  countries. 
Some  Indian  women  from  Bengal  also,  and 
from  the  coast  of  Malabar,  brought  cages  full 
of  small  birds,  which  they  set  at  liberty  upon 


196  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

her  coffin.  Thus  deeply  did  the  loss  of  this 
amiable  being  affect  the  natives  of  different 
countries,  and  thus  was  the  ritual  of  various 
religions  performed  over  the  tomb  of  unfortu- 
nate virtue. 

It  became  necessary  to  place  guards  round 
her  grave,  and  to  employ  gentle  force  in  re- 
moving some  of  the  daughters  of  the  neighbor- 
ing villages,  who  endeavored  to  throw  them- 
selves into  it,  saying  that  they  had  no  longer 
any  consolation  to  hope  for  in  this  world,  and 
that  nothing  remained  for  them  but  to  die  with 
their  benefactress.  • 

On  the  western  side  of  the  church  of  the 
Shaddock  Grove  is  a  small  copse  of  bamboos, 
where,  in  returning  from  mass  with  her  mother 
and  Margaret,  Virginia  loved  to  rest  herself, 
seated  by  the  side  of  him  whom  she  then  called 
brother.  This  was  the  spot  selected  for  her 
interment. 

At  his  return  from  the  funeral  solemnity, 
Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais  came  up  here,  fol- 
lowed by  part  of  his  numerous  retinue.  He 
offered  Madame  de  la  Tour  and  her  friend  all 
the  assistance  it  was  in  his  power  to  bestow. 
After  briefly  expressing  his  indignation  at  the 
conduct  of  her  unnatural  aunt,  he  advanced  to 
Paul,  and  said  everything  which  he  thought 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  197 

most  likely  to  soothe  and  console  him. 
*' Heaven  is  my  witness,"  said  he,  "that  I 
wished  to  insure  your  happiness,  and  that  of 
your  family.  My  dear  friend,  you  must  go  to 
France;  I  will  obtain  a  commission  for  you, 
and  during  your  absence  I  will  take  the  same 
care  of  your  mother  as  if  she  were  my  own. ' ' 
He  then  offered  him  his  hand;  but  Paul  drew 
away  and  turned  his  head  aside,  unable  to  bear 
his  sight. 

I  remained  for  some  time  at  the  plantation 
of  my  unfortunate  friends,  that  I  might  render 
to  them  and  Paul  those  offices  of  friendship 
that  were  in  my  power,  and  which  might  alle- 
viate, though  they  could  not  heal  the  wounds 
of  calamity.  At  the  end  of  three  weeks,  Paul 
was  able  to  walk ;  but  his  mind  seemed  to  droop 
in  proportion  as  his  body  gathered  strength. 
He  was  insensible  to  everything;  his  look  was 
vacant ;  and  when  asked  a  question,  he  made 
no  reply.  .  Madame  de  la  Tour,  who  was 
dying,  said  to  him  often, — "My  son,  while  I 
look  at  you,  I  think  I  see  my  dear  Virginia. ' ' 
At  the  name  of  Virginia  he  shuddered,  and 
hastened  away  from  her,  notwithstanding  the 
entreaties  of  his  mother,  who  begged  him  to 
come  back  to  her  friend.  He  used  to  go  alone 
into  the  garden,  and  seat  himself  at  the  foot 


198  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

of  Virginia's  cocoa-tree,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  fountain.  The  Governor's  surgeon, 
who  had  shown  the  most  humane  attention  to 
Paul  and  the  whole  family,  told  us  that  in 
order  to  cure  the  deep  melancholy  which  had 
taken  possession  of  his  mind,  we  must  allow 
him  to  do  whatever  he  pleased,  without  contra- 
diction :  this,  he  said,  afforded  the  only  chance 
of  overcoming  the  silence  in  which  he  perse- 
vered. 

I  resolved  to  follow  this  advice.  The  first 
use  which  Paul  made  of  his  returning  strength 
was  to  absent  himself  from  the  plantation. 
Being  determined  not  to  lose  sight  of  him  I  set 
out  immediately,  and  desired  Domingo  to  take 
some  provisions  and  accompany  us.  The 
young  man's  strength  and  spirits  seemed  re- 
newed as  he  descended  the  mountain.  He  fh.,t 
took  the  road  to  the  Shaddock  Grove,  and  when 
he  was  near  the  church,  in  the  Alley  of  Bam- 
boos, he  walked  directly  to  the  spot  where  he 
saw  some  earth  fresh  turned  up;  kneeling 
down  there,  and  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he 
offered  up  a  long  prayer.  This  appeared  to  me 
a  favorable  symptom  of  the  return  of  his 
reason ;  since  this  mark  of  confidence  in  the 
Supreme  Being  showed  that  his  mind  was 
beginning  to  resume  its  natural  functions. 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  199 

Domingo  and  I,  following  his  example,  fell 
upon  our  knees,  and  mingled  our  prayers  with 
his.  When  he  arose,  he  bent  his  way,  paying 
little  attention  to  us,  towards  the  northern 
part  of  the  island.  As  I  knew  that  he  was  not 
only  ignorant  of  the  spot  where  the  body  of 
Virginia  had  been  deposited,  but  even  of  the 
fact  that  it  had  been  recovered  from  the  waves, 
I  asked  him  why  he  had  offered  up  his  prayer 
at  the  foot  of  those  bamboos.  He  answered, — 
"We  have  been  there  so  often." 

He  continued  his  course  until  we  reached  the 
borders  of  the  forest,  when  night  came  on.  I 
set  him  the  example  of  taking  some  nourish- 
ment, and  prevailed  on  him  to  do  the  same; 
and  we  slept  upon  the  grass,  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree.  The  next  day  I  thought  he  seemed  dis- 
posed to  retrace  his  steps;  for,  after  having 
gazed  a  considerable  time  from  the  plain  upon 
the  church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  with  its 
long  avenues  of  bamboos,  he  made  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  return  home;  but  suddenly 
plunging  into  the  forest,  he  directed  his  course 
towards  the  north.  I  guessed  what  was  his 
design,  and  I  endeavored,  but  in  vain,  to  dis- 
suade him  from  it.  About  noon  we  arrived  at 
the  quarter  of  Golden  Dust.  He  rushed  down 
to  the  sea-shore,  opposite  to  the  spot  where  the 


200 

Saint-Geran  had  been  wrecked.  At  the  sight 
of  the  isle  of  Amber,  and  its  channel,  then 
smooth  as  a  mirror,  he  exclaimed, — "Virginia! 
oh,  my  dear  Virginia!"  and  fell  senseless. 
Domingo  and  I  carried  him  into  the  woods, 
where  we  had  some  difficulty  in  recovering 
him.  As  soon  as  he  regained  his  senses,  he 
wished  to  return  to  the  sea-shore ;  but  we  con- 
jured him  not  to  renew  his  own  anguish  and 
ours  by  such  cruel  remembrances,  and  he  took 
another  direction.  During  a  whole  week  he 
sought  every  spot  where  he  had  once  wandered 
with  the  companion  of  his  childhood.  He 
traced  the  path  by  which  she  had  gone  to  in- 
tercede for  the  slave  of  the  Black  River.  He 
gazed  again  upon  the  banks  of  the  river  of  the 
Three  Breasts,  where  she  had  rested  herself 
when  unable  to  walk  further,  and  upon  the 
part  of  the  v/ood  where  they  had  lost  their  way. 
All  the  haunts,  which  recalled  to  his  memory 
the  anxieties,  the  sports,  the  repasts,  the  be- 
nevolence of  her  he  loved, — the  river  of  the 
Sloping  Mountain,  my  house,  the  neighboring 
cascade,  the  papaw  tree  she  had  planted,  the 
grassy  fields  in  which  she  loved  to  run,  the 
openings  of  the  forest  where  she  used  to  sing, 
all  in  succession  called  forth  his  tears;  and 
those  very  echoes  which  had  so  often  resounded 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  201 

with  their  mutual  shouts  of  joy,  now  repeated 
only  these  accents  of  despair, — "Virginia!  oh, 
my  dear  Virginia!" 

During  this  savage  and  wandering  life,  his 
eyes  became  sunk  and  hollow,  his  skin  assumed 
a  yellow  tint,  and  his  health  rapidly  declined. 
Convinced  that  our  present  sufferings  are  ren- 
dered more  acute  by  the  bitter  recollection  of 
bygone  pleasures,  and  that  the  passions  gather 
strength  in  solitude,  I  resolved  to  remove  my 
unfortunate  friend  from  those  scenes  which  re- 
called the  remembrance  of  his  loss,  and  to  lead 
him  to  a  more  busy  part  of  the  island.  With 
this  view,  I  conducted  him  to  the  inhabited 
part  of  the  elevated  quarter  of  Williams,  which 
he  had  never  visited,  and  where  the  busy  pur- 
suits of  agriculture  and  commerce  ever  occa- 
sioned much  bustle  and  variety.  Numbers  of 
carpenters  were  employed  in  hewing  down  and 
squaring  trees,  while  others  were  sawing  them 
into  planks ;  carriages  were  continually  passing 
and  repassing  on  the  roads;  numerous  herds 
of  oxen  and  troops  of  horses  were  feeding  on 
those  widespread  meadows,  and  the  whole 
country  was  dotted  with  the  dwellings  of  man. 
On  some  spots  the  elevation  of  the  soil  per- 
mitted the  culture  of  many  of  the  plants  of 
Europe :  the  yellow  ears  of  ripe  corn  waved 


202  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

upon  the  plains ;  strawberry  plants  grew  in  the 
openings  of  the  woods,  and  the  roads  were  bor- 
dered by  hedges  of  rose-trees.  The  freshness 
of  the  air,  too,  giving  tension  to  the  nerves, 
was  favorable  to  the  health  of  Europeans. 
From  those  heights,  situated  near  the  middle 
of  the  island,  and  surrounded  by  extensive 
forests,  neither  the  sea,  nor  Port  Louis,  nor  the 
church  of  the  Shaddock  Grove,  nor  any  other 
object  associated  with  the  remembrance  of  Vir- 
ginia could  be  discerned.  Even  the  moun- 
tains, which  present  various  shapes  on  the  side 
of  Port  Louis,  appear  from  hence  like  a  long 
promontory,  in  a  straight  and  perpendicular 
line,  from  which  arise  lofty  pyramids  of  rock, 
whose  summits  are  enveloped  in  the  clouds. 

Conducting  Paul  to  these  scenes,  I  kept  him 
continually  in  action,  walking  with  him  in  rain 
and  sunshine,  by  day  and  by  night.  I  sometimes 
wandered  with  him  into  the  depths  of  the  for- 
ests, or  led  him  over  untilled  grounds,  hoping 
that  change  of  scene  and  fatigue  might  divert 
his  mind  from  its  gloomy  meditations.  But 
the  soul  of  a  lover  finds  everywhere  the  traces 
of  the  beloved  object.  Night  and  day,  the 
calm  of  solitude  and  the  tumult  of  the  crowds, 
are  to  him  the  same;  time  itself,  which  casts 
the  shade  of  oblivion  over  so  many  other  re- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  203 

membrances,  in  vain  would  tear  that  tender 
jnd  sacred  recollection  from  the  heart.  The 
needle,  when  touched  by  the  loadstone,  how- 
ever it  may  have  been  moved  from  its  position, 
is  no  sooner  left  to  repose,  than  it  returns  to 
the  pole  of  its  attraction.  So,  when  I  inquired 
of  Paul,  as  we  wandered  amidst  the  plains  of 
Williams, — "Where  shall  we  now  go?"  he 
pointed  to  the  north,  and  said,  "Yonder  are  our 
mountains;  let  us  return  home." 

I  now  saw  that  all  the  means  I  took  to  divert 
him  from  his  melancholy  were  fruitless,  and 
that  no  resource  was  left  but  an  attempt  to 
combat  his  passion  by  the  arguments  which 
reason  suggested.  I  answered  him, — "Yes, 
there  are  the  mountains  where  once  dwelt  your 
beloved  Virginia ;  and  here  is  the  picture  you 
gave  her,  and  which  she  held,  when  dying,  to 
her  heart — that  heart,  which  even  in  its  last 
moments  only  beat  for  you. ' '  I  then  presented 
to  Paul  the  little  portrait  which  he  had  given 
to  Virginia  on  the  borders  of  the  cocoa-tree 
fountain.  At  this  sight  a  gloomy  joy  over- 
spread his  countenance.  He  eagerly  seized  the 
picture  with  his  feeble  hands,  and  held  it  to  his 
lips.  His  oppressed  bosom  seemed  ready  to 
burst  with  emotion,  and  his  eyes  were  filled 
with  tears  which  had  no  power  to  flow. 


204  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.     . 

"My  son,"  said  I,  "listen  to  one  who  is  youi 
friend,  who  was  the  friend  of  Virginia,  and 
who,  in  the  bloom  of  your  hopes,  has  often  en- 
deavored to  fortify  your  mind  against  the  un- 
foreseen accidents  of  life.  What  do  you  deplore 
with  so  much  bitterness?  Is  it  your  own  mis- 
fortunes, or  those  of  Virginia,  which  affect  you 
so  deeply? 

"Your  own  misfortunes  are  indeed  severe. 
You  have  lost  the  most  amiable  of  girls,  who 
would  have  grown  up  to  womanhood  a  pattern 
to  her  sex,  one  who  sacrificed  her  own  inter- 
ests to  yours;  who  preferred  you  to  all  that 
fortune  could  bestow,  and  considered  you  as 
the  only  recompense  worthy  of  her  virtues. 

"But  might  not  this  very  object,  from  whom 
you  expected  the  purest  happiness,  have  proved 
to  you  a  source  of  the  most  cruel  distress? 
She  had  returned  poor  and  disinherited;  all 
you  could  henceforth  have  partaken  with  her 
was  your  labor.  Rendered  more  delicate  by 
her  education,  and  more  courageous  by  her 
misfortunes,  you  might  have  beheld  her  every 
day  sinking  beneath  her  efforts  to  share  and 
lighten  your  fatigues.  Had  she  brought  you 
children,  they  would  only  have  served  to  in- 
crease her  anxieties  and  your  own,  from  the 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  205 

difficulty  of  sustaining  at  once  your  aged  pat- 
ents and  your  infant  family. 

"Very  likely  you  will  tell  me  that  the  Gov- 
ernor would  have  helped  you ;  but  how  do  you 
know  that  in  a  colony  whose  governors  are  so 
frequently  changed,  you  would  have  had  others 
like  Monsieur  de  la  Bourdonnais? — that  one 
might  not  have  been  sent  destitute  of  good 
feeling  and  of  morality? — that  your  young  wife, 
in  order  to  procure  some  miserable  pittance, 
might  not  have  been  obliged  to  seek  his  favor? 
Had  she  been  weak  you  would  have  been  to  be 
pitied ;  and  if  she  had  remained  virtuous,  you 
would  have  continued  poor ;  forced  even  to  con- 
sider  yourself  fortunate  if,  on  account  of  the 
beauty  and  virtue  of  your  wife,  you  had  not  to 
endure  persecution  from  those  who  had  prom- 
ised you  protection. 

"It  would  still  have  remained  to  you,  you 
may  say,  to  have  enjoyed  a  pleasure  independ- 
ent of  fortune,  that  of  protecting  a  beloved  be- 
ing, who,  in  proportion  to  her  own  helplessness, 
had  more  attached  herself  to  you.  You  may 
fancy  that  your  pains  and  sufferings  would 
have  served  to  endear  you  to  each  other,  and 
that  your  passion  would  have  gathered 
strength  from  your  mutual  misfortunes.  Un- 
doubtedly virtuous  love  does  find  consolation 


206  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA 

even  in  such  melancholy  retrospects.  But  Vir- 
ginia is  no  more ;  yet  those  persons  still  live, 
whom,  next  to  yourself,  she  held  most  dear; 
her  mother,  and  your  own:  your  inconsolable 
affliction  is  bringing  them  both  to  the  grave. 
Place  your  happiness  as  she  did  hers,  in  afford- 
ing them  succor.  My  son,  beneficence  is  the 
happiness  of  the  virtuous :  there  is  no  greater 
or  more  certain  enjoyment  on  the  earth. 
Schemes  of  pleasure,  repose,  luxuries,  wealth 
and  glory  are  not  suited  to  man,  weak,  wan- 
dering, and  transitory  as  he  is.  See  how 
rapidly  one  step  towards  the  acquisition  of  for- 
tune has  precipitated  us  all  to  the  lowest  abyss 
of  misery !  You  were  opposed  to  it,  it  is  true ; 
but  who  would  not  have  thought  that  Virgin- 
ia's voyage  would  terminate  in  her  happiness 
and  your  own?  an  invitation  from  a  rich  and 
aged  relation,  the  .advice  of  a  wise  governor, 
the  approbation  of  the  whole  colony,  and  the 
well-advised  authority  of  her  confessor,  de- 
cided the  lot  of  Virginia.  Thus  do  we  run  to 
our  ruin,  deceived  even  by  the  prudence  of 
those  who  watch  over  us :  it  would  be  better, 
no  doubt,  not  to  believe  them,  nor  even  to  lis- 
ten to  the  voice  or  lean  on  the  hopes  of  a  de- 
ceitful world.  But  all  men, — those  you  see 
occupied  in  these  plains,  those  who  go  abroad 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  207 

to  seek  their  fortunes,  and  those  in  Europe 
who  enjoy  repose  from  the  labors  of  others,  are 
liable  to  reverses !  not  one  is  secure  from  los- 
ing, at  some  period,  all  that  he  most  values, — 
greatness,  wealth,  wife,  children,  and  friends. 
Most  of  these  would  have  their  sorrow  in- 
creased by  the  remembrance  of  their  own  im- 
prudence. But  you  have  nothing  with  which 
you  can  reproach  yourself.  You  have  been 
faithful  in  your  love.  In  the  bloom  of  youth, 
by  not  departing  from  the  dictates  of  nature, 
you  evinced  the  wisdom  of  a  sage.  Your  views 
were  just,  because  they  were  pure,  simple,  and 
disinterested.  You  had,  besides,  on  Virginia, 
sacred  claims  which  nothing  could  countervail. 
You  have  lost  her :  but  it  is  neither  your  own 
imprudence,  nor  your  avarice,  nor  your  false 
wisdom  which  has  occasioned  this  misfortune, 
but  the  will  of  God,  who  has  employed  the 
passions  of  others  to  snatch  from  you  the  ob- 
ject of  your  love ;  God,  from  whom  you  derive 
everything,  who  knows  what  is  most  fitting 
for  you,  and  whose  wisdom  has  not  left  you 
any  cause  for  the  repentance  and  despair 
which  succeed  the  calamities  that  are  brought 
upon  us  by  ourselves. 

"Vainly,  in  your  misfortunes,  do  you  say  to 
yourself,   '  I  have  not  deserved  them. '     Is  it 


208  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

then  the  calamity  of  Virginia — her  death  and 
her  present  condition  that  you  deplore?  She 
has  undergone  the  fate  allotted  to  all,— to 
high  birth,  to  beauty,  and  even  to  empires 
themselves.  The  life  of  man,  with  all  its  pro- 
ject, may  be  compared  to  a  tower,  at  whose 
summit  is  death.  When  your  Virginia  was 
born,  she  was  condemned  to  die;  happily  for 
herself,  she  is  released  from  life  before  losing 
her  mother,  or  yours,  or  you;  saved,  thus, 
from  undergoing  pangs  worse  than  those  of 
death  itself. 

"Learn,  then,  my  son.  that  death  is  a  ben- 
efit to  all  men ;  it  is  the  night  of  that  restless 
day  we  call  by  the  name  of  life.  The  diseases, 
the  griefs,  the  vexations,  and  the  fears,  which 
perpetually  embitter  our  life  as  long  as  we 
possess  it,  molest  us  no  more  in  the  sleep  of 
death.  If  you  inquire  into  the  history  of  those 
men  who  appear  to  have  been  the  happiest, 
you  will  find  that  they  have  bought  their  ap- 
parent felicity  very  dear ;  public  consideration, 
perhaps,  by  domestic  evils ;  the  rare  happiness 
of  being  beloved,  by  continual  sacrifices;  and 
often,  at  the  expiration  of  a  life  devoted  to  the 
good  of  others,  they  see  themselves  surrounded 
only  by  false  friends,  and  ungrateful  relations. 
But  Virginia  was  happy  to  her  very  last  mo- 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  209 

ment.  When  with  us,  she  was  happy  in  par- 
taking of  the  gifts  of  nature ;  when  far  from 
us,  she  found  enjoyment  in  the  practice  of  vir- 
tue ;  and  even  at  the  terrible  moment  in  which 
we  saw  her  perish,  she  still  had  cause  for  self- 
gratulation.  For,  whether  she  cas-  her  eyes 
on  the  assembled  colony,  made  miserable  by 
her  expected  loss,  or  on  you,  my  son,  who, 
with  so  much  intrepidity,  were  endeavoring  to 
save  her,  she  must  have  seen  how  dear  she  was 
to  all.  Her  mind  was  fortified  against  the  fu- 
ture by  the  remembrance  of  her  innocent  life ; 
and  at  that  moment  she  received  the  reward 
which  Heaven  reserves  for  virtue, — a  courage 
superior  to  danger.  She  met  death  with  a 
serene  countenance. 

"My  son!  God  gives  all  the  trials  of  life  to 
virtue,  in  order  to  show  that  virtue  alone  can 
support  them,  and  even  find  in  them  happiness 
and  glory.  When  he  designs  for  it  an  illustri- 
ous reputation,  he  exhibits  it  on  a  wide  the- 
ater, and  contending  with  death.  Then  does 
the  courage  of  virtue  shine  forth  as  an  exam- 
ple, and  the  misfortunes  to  which  it  has  been 
exposed  receive  forever,  from  posterity,  the 
tribute  of  their  tears.  This  is  the  immortal 
monument  reserved  for  virtue  in  a  world  where 
everything  else  passes  away,  and  where  the 

14    Paul  and  Virginia 


210  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

names,  even  of  the  greater  number  of  kings 
themselves,  are  soon  buried  in  eternal  obliv- 
ion. 

"Meanwhile,  Virginia  still  exists.  My  son, 
you  see  that  everything  changes  on  this  earth, 
but  that  nothing  is  ever  lost.  No  art  of  man 
can  annihilate  the  smallest  particle  of  matter; 
can ,  then,  that  which  has  possessed  reason, 
sensibility,  affection,  virtue  and  religion  be 
supposed  capable  of  destruction,  when  the  very 
elements  with  which  it  is  clothed  are  imper- 
ishable? Ah!  however  happy  Virginia  may 
have  been  with  us,  she  is  now  much  more  so. 
There  is  a  God,  my  son ;  it  is  unnecessary  for 
me  to  prove  it  to  you,  for  the  voice  of  all  na- 
ture loudly  proclaims  it.  The  wickedness  of 
mankind  lead  them  to  deny  the  existence  of  a 
Being,  whose  justice  they  fear.  But  your 
mind  is  fully  convinced  of  his  existence,  while 
his  works  are  ever  before  your  eyes.  Do  you 
then  believe  that  he  would  leave  Virginia  with- 
out recompense?  Do  you  think  that  the  same 
Power  which  inclosed  her  noble  soul  in  a  form 
so  beautiful, — so  like  an  emanation  from 
itself,  could  not  have  saved  her  from  the  waves? 
— that  he  who  has  ordained  the  happiness  of 
man  here,  by  laws  unknown  to  you,  cannot 
prepare  a  still  higher  degree  of  felicity  for 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  211 

Virginia  by  other  laws,  of  which  you  are 
equally  ignorant?  Before  we  were  born  into 
this  world,  could  we,  do  you  imagine,  even  if 
we  were  capable  of  thinking  at  all,  have 
formed  any  idea  of  our  existence  here?  And 
now  that  we  are  in  the .  midst  of  this  gloomy 
and  transitory  life,  can  we  foresee  what  is  be- 
yond the  tomb,  or  in  what  manner  we  shall  be 
emancipated  from  it?  Does  God,  like  man, 
need  this  little  globe,  the  earth,  as  a  theater 
for  the  display  of  his  intelligence  and  his  good- 
ness?— and  can  he  only  dispose  of  human  life 
in  the  territory  of  death  ?  There  is  not,  in  the 
entire  ocean,  a  single  drop  of  water  which  is 
not  peopled  with  living  beings  appertaining  to 
man ;  and  does  there  exist  nothing  for  him  in 
the  heavens  above  his  head?  What!  is  there 
no  supreme  intelligence,  no  divine  goodness, 
except  on  this  little  spot  where  we  are  placed? 
In  those  innumerable  glowing  fires, — in  those 
infinite  fields  of  light  which  surround  them, 
and  which  neither  storms  nor  darkness  can  ex- 
tinguish, is  there  nothing  but  empty  space  and 
an  eternal  void?  If  we,  weak  and  ignorant  as 
we  are,  might  dare  to  assign  limits  to  that 
Power  from  whom  we,  have  received  every- 
thing, we  might  possibly  imagine  that  we  were 
placed  on  the  very  confines  of  his  empire, 


212  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

where  life  is  perpetually  struggling  with  death, 
and  innocence  forever  in  danger  from  the 
power  of  tyranny ! 

"Somewhere,  then,  without  doubt,  there  is 
another  world,  where  virtue  will  receive  its 
reward.  Virginia  is  now  happy.  Ah!  if  from 
the  abode  of  angels  she  could  hold  communica- 
tion with  you,  she  would  tell  you  as  she  did 
when  she  bade  you  her  last  adieus, — 'O,  Paul! 
life  is  but  a  scene  of  trial.  I  have  been  obedi- 
ent to  the  laws  of  nature,  love  and  virtue.  I 
crossed  the  seas  to  obey  the  will  of  my  rela- 
tions ;  I  sacrificed  wealth  in  order  to  keep  my 
faith ;  and  I  preferred  the  loss  of  life  to  diso- 
beying the  dictates  of  modesty.,  Heaven  found 
that  I  had  fulfilled  my  duties,  and  has  snatched 
me  forever  from  all  the  miseries  I  might  have 
endured  myself,  and  all  I  might  have  felt  for 
the  miseries  of  others.  I  am  placed  far  above 
the  reach  of  all  human  evils,  and  you  pity  me ! 
I  am  become  pure  and  unchangeable  as  a  par- 
ticle of  light,  and  you  would  recall  me  to  the 
darkness  of  human  life !  O,  Paul !  O,  my  be- 
loved friend !  recollect  those  days  of  happiness, 
when  in  the  morning  we  felt  the  delightful 
sensations  excited  by  the  unfolding  beauties  of 
nature ;  when  we  seemed  to  rise  with  the  sun 
to  the  peaks  of  those  rocks,  and  then  to  spread 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  213 

with  his  rays  over  the  bosom  of  the  forests. 
We  experienced  a  delight,  the  cause  of  which 
we  could  not  comprehend.  In  the  innocence 
of  our  desires,  we  wished  to  be  all  sight,  to  en- 
joy the  rich  colors  of  the  early  dawn ;  all  smell, 
to  taste  a  thousand  perfumes  at  once ;  all  hear- 
ing, to  listen  to  the  singing  of  our  birds ;  and 
all  hearts,  to  be  capable  of  gratitude  for  those 
mingled  blessings.  Now,  at  the  source  of  the 
beauty  whence  flows  all  that  is  delightful  upon 
earth,  my  soul  intuitively  sees,  tastes,  hears, 
touches,  what  before  she  could  only  be  made 
sensible  of  through  the  medium  of  our  weak 
organs.  Ah !  what  language  can  describe  these 
shores  of  eternal  bliss,  which  I  inhabit  forever ! 
All  that  infinite  power  and  heavenly  goodness 
could  create  to  console  the  unhappy:  all  that 
the  friendship  of  numberless  beings  exulting 
in  the  same  facility  can  impart,  we  enjoy  in 
unmixed  perfection.  Support,  then,  the  trial 
which  is  now  allotted  to  you,  that  you  may 
heighten  the  happiness  of  your  Virginia  by 
love  which  will  know  no  termination, — by  a 
union  which  will  be  eternal.  There  I  will 
calm  your  regrets,  I  will  wipe  away  your  tears. 
Oh,  my  beloved  friend !  my  youthful  husband ! 
raise  your  thoughts  toward  the  infinite,  to  en- 
able you  to  support  the  evils  of  a  moment'  " 


214  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

My  own  emotion  choked  my  utterance. 
Paul,  looking  at  me  steadfastly,  cried, — "She 
is  no  more!  she  is  no  more!"  and  a  long  faint- 
ing fit  succeeded  these  words  of  woe.  When 
restored  to  himself,  he  said,  "Since  death  is  a 
good,  and  since  Virgina  is  happy,  I  will  die, 
too,  and  be  united  to  Virginia."  Thus  the 
motives  of  consolation  I  had  offered,  only 
served  to  nourish  his  despair.  I  was  in  the 
situation  of  a  man  who  attempts  to  save  a 
friend  sinking  in  the  midst  of  a  flood,  and  who 
obstinately  refuses  to  swim.  Sorrow  had  com- 
pletely overwhelmed  his  soul.  Alas !  the  trials 
of  early  years  prepare  man1  for  the  afflictions 
of  after-life ;  but  Paul  had  never  experienced 
any. 

I  took  him  back  to  his  own  dwelling,  where 
I  found  his  mother  and  Madame  de  la  Tour  in 
a  state  of  increased  languor  and  exhaustion, 
but  Margaret  seemed  to  droop  the  most. 
Lively  characters,  upon  whom  petty  troubles 
have  but  little  effect,  sink  the  soonest  under 
great  calamities. 

"O  my  good  friend,"  said  Margaret,  "I 
thought  last  night  I  saw  Virginia,  dressed  in 
white,  in  the  midst  of  groves  and  delicious  gar- 
dens. She  said  to  me,  '  I  enjoy  the  most  per- 
fect happiness:'  and  then  approaching  Paul 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  215 

with  a  smiling  air,  she  bore  him  away  with 
her.  While  I  was  struggling  to  retain  my  son, 
I  felt  that  I  myself  too  was  quitting  the  earth, 
and  that  I  followed  with  inexpressible  delight. 
I  then  wished  to  bid  my  friend  farewell,  when 
I  saw  that  she  was  hastening  after  me,  accom- 
panied by  Mary  and  Domingo.  But  the  strang- 
est circumstance  remains  yet  to  be  told; 
Madame  de  la  Tour  has  this  very  night  had  a 
dream  exactly  like  mine  in  every  possible  re- 
spect." 

"My  dear  friend,"  I  replied,  "nothing,  I 
firmly  believe,  happens  in  this  world  without 
the  permission  of  God.  Future  events,  too, 
are  sometimes  revealed  in  dreams." 

Madame  de  la  Tour  then  related  to  me  her 
dream,  which  was  exactly  the  same  as  Mar- 
garet's in  every  particular;  and  as  I  had  never 
observed  in  either  of  these  ladies  any  propen- 
sity to  superstition,  I  was  struck  with  the  singu- 
lar coincidence  of  their  dreams,  and  I  felt  con- 
vinced that  they  would  soon  be  realized.  The 
belief  that  future  events  are  sometimes  revealed 
to  us  during  sleep,  is  one  that  is  widely 
diffused  among  the  nations  of  the  earth.  The 
greatest  men  of  antiquity  have  had  faith  in  it; 
among  whom  may  be  mentioned  Alexander 
the  Great,  Julius  Caesar,  the  Scipios,  the  two 


216  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

Catos,  and  Brutus,  none  of  whom  were  weak- 
minded  persons.  Both  the  Old  and  the  New 
Testament  furnish  us  with  numerous  instances 
of  dreams  that  came  to  pass.  As  for  myself,  I 
need  only,  on  this  subject,  appeal  to  my  expe- 
rience, as  I  have  more  than  once  had  good 
reason  to  believe  that  superior  intelligences, 
who  interest  themselves  in  our  welfare,  com- 
municate with  us  in  these  visions  of  the  night. 
Things  which  surpass  the  light  of  human 
reason,  cannot  be  proved  by  arguments  derived 
from  that  reason ;  but  still,  if  the  mind  of  man 
is  an  image  of  that  of  God,  since  man  can 
make  known  his  will  to  the  ends  of  the  earth 
by  secret  missives,  may  not  the  Supreme  Intel- 
ligence which  governs  the  universe  employ 
similar  means  to  attain  alike  end?  One  friend 
consoles  another  by  a  letter,  which,  after  pass- 
ing through  many  kingdoms,  and  being  in  the 
hands  of  various  individuals  at  enmity  with 
each  other,  brings  at  last  joy  and  hope  to  the 
breast  of  a  single  human  being.  May  not  in 
like  manner  the  Sovereign  Protector  of  inno- 
cence come  in  some  secret  way,  to  the  help  of 
a  virtuous  soul,  which  puts  its  trust  in  Him 
alone?  Has  he  occasions  to  employ  visible 
means  to  effect  his  purpose  in  this,  whose 
ways  are  hidden  in  all  his  ordinary  works? 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  217 

Why  should  we  doubt  the  evidence  of 
dreams?  for  what  is  our  life,  occupied  as  it  is 
with  vain  and  fleeting  imaginations,  other  than 
a  prolonged  vision  of  the  night? 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  this  in  general, 
on  the  present  occasion  the  dreams  of  my 
friends  were  soon  realized.  Paul  expired  two 
months  after  the  death  of  Virginia,  whose 
name  dwelt  on  his  lips  in  his  expiring  mo- 
ments. About  a  week  after  the  death  of  her 
son,  Margaret  saw  her  last  hour  approach  with 
that  serenity  which  virtue  only  can  feel.  She 
bade  Madame  de  la  Tour  a  most  tender  fare- 
well, "in  the  certain  hope,"  she  said,  "of  a  de- 
lightful and  eternal  re-union.  Death  is  the 
greatest  of  blessings  to  us,"  added  she,  "and 
we  ought  to  desire  it.  If  life  be  a  punishment, 
we  should  wish  for  its  termination ;  if  it  be  a 
trial,  we  should  be  thankful  that  it  is  short." 

The  Governor  took  care  of  Domingo  and 
Mary,  who  were  no  longer  able  to  labor,  and 
who  survived  their  mistresses  but  a  short  time. 

As  for  poor  Fidele,  he  pined  to  death  soon 
after  he  had  lost  his  master. 

I  afforded  an  asylum  in  my  dwelling  to 
Madame  de  la  Tour,  who  bore  up  under  her  cala- 
mities with  incredible  elevation  of  mind.  She 
had  endeavored  to  console  Paul  and  Margaret 


218  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

till  their  last  moments,  as  if  she  herself  had  no 
misfortunes  of  her  own  to  bear.  When  they 
were  no  more,  she  used  to  talk  to  me  every 
day  of  them  as  of  beloved  friends,  who  were 
still  living  near  her.  She  survived  them  how- 
ever, but  one  month.  Far  from  reproaching 
her  aunt  for  the  afflictions  she  had  caused,  her 
benign  spirit  prayed  to  God  to  pardon  her, 
and  to  appease  that  remorse  which  we  heard 
began  to  torment  her,  as  soon  as  she  had  sent 
Virginia  away  with  so  much  inhumanity. 

Conscience,  that  certain  punishment  of  the 
guilty,  visited  with  all  its  terrors  the  mind  of 
this  unnatural  relation.  So  great  was  her  tor- 
ment, that  life  and  death  became  equally  un- 
supportable  to  her.  Sometimes  she  reproached 
herself  with  the  untimely  fate  of  her  lovely 
niece,  and  with  the  death  of  her  mother,  which 
had  immediately  followed  it.  At  other  times 
she  congratulated  herself  for  having  repulsed 
far  from  her  her  two  wretched  creatures,  who, 
she  said,  had  both  dishonored  their  family  by 
their  groveling  inclinations.  Sometimes,  at 
the  sight  of  the  many  miserable  objects  with 
which  Paris  abounds,  she  would  fly  into  a  rage, 
and  exclaim,  "Why  are  not  these  idle  people 
sent  off  to  the  colonies?"  As  for  the  notions 
of  humanity,  virtue,  and  religion,  adopted  by 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  219 

all  nations,  she  said,  they  were  only  the  inven- 
tions of  their  rulers,  to  serve  political  pur- 
poses. Then,  flying  all  at  once  to  the  other 
extreme,  she  abandoned  herself  to  superstitious 
terrors,  which  filled  her  with  mortal  fears. 
She  would  then  give  abundant  alms  to  the 
wealthy  ecclesiastics  who  governed  her,  be- 
seeching them  to  appease  the  wrath  of  God  by 
the  sacrifice  of  her  fortune, — as  if  the  offering 
to  Him  of  the  wealth  she  had  withheld  from 
the  miserable  could  please  her  Heavenly 
Father!  In  her  imagination  she  often  beheld 
fields  of  fire,  with  burning  mountains,  wherein 
hideous  specters  wandered  about,  loudly  call- 
ing on  her  by  name.  She  threw  herself  at  her 
confessor's  feet,  imagining  every  description 
of  agony  and  torture;  for  Heaven — just 
Heaven — always  sends  to  the  cruel  the  most 
frightful  views  of  religion  and  a  future  state. 
Atheist,  thus,  and  fanatic  in  turn,  holding 
both  life  and  death  in  equal  horror,  she  lived 
on  for  several  years.  But  what  completed  the 
torments  of  her  miserable  existence,  was  that 
very  object  to  which  she  had  sacrificed  every 
natural  affection.  She  was  deeply  annoyed  at 
perceiving  that  her  fortune  must  go,  at  her 
death,  to  relations  whom  she  hated,  and  she  de- 
termined to  alienate  as  much  of  it  as  she  could. 


220  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

They,  however,  taking  advantage  of  her  fre- 
quent attacks  of  low  spirits,  caused  her  to  be 
secluded  as  a  lunatic,  and  her  affairs  to  be  put 
into  the  hands  of  trustees.  Her  wealth  thus 
completed  her  ruin ;  and,  as  the  possession  of 
it  had  hardened  her  own  heart,  so  did  its  antici- 
pation corrupt  the  hearts  of  those  who  coveted 
it  from  her.  At  length  she  died ;  and,  to  crown 
her  misery,  she  retained  reason  enough  at  last 
to  be  sensible  that  she  was  plundered  and  de- 
spised by  the  very  persons  whose  opinions  had 
been  her  rule  of  conduct  during  her  whole  life. 
On  the  same  spot,  and  at  the  foot  of  the 
same  shrubs  as  his  Virginia,  was  deposited  the 
body  of  Paul ;  and  round  about  them  lie  the 
remains  of  their  tender  mothers  and  their  faith- 
ful servants.  No  marble  marks  the  spot  of 
their  humble  graves,  no  inscription  records 
their  virtues ;  but  their  memory  is  engraven 
upon  the  hearts  of  those  whom  they  have  be- 
friended, in  indelible  characters.  Their  spirits 
have  no  need  of  the  pomp,  which  they  shunned 
during  their  life ;  but  if  they  still  take  an  inter- 
est in  what  passes  upon  earth,  they  no  doubt 
love  to  wander  beneath  the  roofs  of  these 
humble  dwellings,  inhabited  by  industrious 
virtue,  to  console  poverty  discontented  with  its 
lot,  to  cherish  in  the  hearts  of  lovers  the  sacred 


PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.  221 

flame  of  fidelity,  and  to  inspire  a  taste  for  the 
blessings  of  nature,  a  love  of  honest  labor,  and 
a  dread  of  the  allurements  of  riches.  The  voice 
of  the  people,  which  is  often  silent  with  regard 
to  the  monuments  raised  to  kings,  has  given  to 
some  parts  of  this  island  names  which  will  im- 
mortalize the  loss  of  Virginia.  Near  the  isle 
of  Amber,  in  the  midst  of  sandbanks,  is  a  spot 
called  The  Pass  of  the  Saint-Geran,  from  the 
name  of  the  vessel  which  was  there  lost.  The 
extremity  of  that  point  of  land  which  you  see 
yonder,  three  leagues  off,  half  covered  with 
water,  and  which  the  Saint-Geran  could  not 
double  the  night  before  the  hurricane,  is  called 
the  Cape  of  Misfortune ;  and  before  us,  at  the 
end  of  the  valley,  is  the  Bay  of  the  Tomb, 
where  Virginia  was  found  buried  in  the  sand; 
as  if  the  waves  had  sought  to  restore  her  corpse 
to  her  family,  that  they  might  render  it  the  last 
sad  duties  on  those  shores  where  so  many 
years  of  her  innocent  life  had  been  passed. 

Joined  thus  in  death,  ye  faithful  lovers,  who 
were  so  tenderly  united !  unfortunate  mothers ! 
beloved  family!  these  woods  which  sheltered 
you  with  their  foliage, — these  fountains  which 
flowed  for  you, — these  hillsides  upon  which 
you  reposed,  still  deplore  your  loss!  No  one 
has  since  presumed  to  cultivate  that  desolate 


222  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 

spot  of  land,  or  to  rebuild  those  humble  cot- 
tages. Your  goats  are  become  wild;  your 
orchards  are  destroyed ;  your  birds  are  all  fled, 
and  nothing  is  heard  but  the  cry  of  the  spar- 
row-hawk, as  it  skims  in  quest  of  prey  around 
this  rocky  basin.  As  for  myself,  since  I  have 
ceased  to  behold  you,  I  have  felt  friendless  and 
alone,  like  a  father  bereft  of  his  children,  or  a 
traveler  who  wanders  by  himself  over  the  face 
of  the  earth." 

Ending  with  these  words,  the  good  old  man 
retired,  bathed  in  tears ;  and  my  own,  too,  had 
flowed  more  than  once  during  this  melancholy 
recital. 


THE  END. 


tern   Ir 

Sair 
Paul 
Iten 
OR  1C 


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